American Problems

I know that when people read that title, they'll assume that I'm going to go on a rant about how spoiled Americans are. To be fair, it is true that Americans are truly spoiled, but if you think about it, American souls are far more troubled because of that. I realized this as soon as I got home and talked to my friends and neighbors. I realized this today when I went shopping and the blinking lights and neon signs were blinding me. I realized this when I was watching drama television. It was all so entertaining and distracting and busy.

Here in America, honestly, Satan doesn't even have to try. In Zambia, we could tell that Satan really wanted those children and those hardworking people and those famlies. But, as missionaries of Christ, we refused to give up on them. Satan did not win there.

And yet, we give up on ourselves here. Satan is a constant victor.

There are youth groups out there cursing, drinking, and doing drugs. There are pastors getting divorced and denying God. There are hypocrites out there that are Sunday-Only-Christians. Here in America, religion isn't a hope to most. It's a bother. And apparently, Christianity is the most annoying of all. Living here, surrounded by these troubled souls, I realize why God didn't want me or anyone else who didn't stay in Africa to move there. After all, so many of us wanted to move there. We loved the people and we just wanted to help. They needed Christ right away and they knew it too.

Here, people need Christ, but they don't know or they don't care or both. It's too much work to them. To me even, at times. Most of the time. The bible does say that we all need Christ, but my goodness, you really have to try and sell it here.

In Africa, we were missionaries of Christ. In America, we are merchants of Christ.

Can that change?

8/16/11 - Culture Shock

This is my last plane ride until I land in Washington D.C. with the rest of my family and friends. My last travel until I land back in my hometown and I am surrounded by rich people and whiny children and melodramatic teenagers. My last chance in the moment to think this week through. My last chance until I am engulfed by Bustling-And-Busy-America, where we don’t have time to be inconvenienced by sadness. Where people lose faith because they just don’t have the time to pray or they’re too sensible to believe in angels and demons. Where people someone’s life could be over if he or she had a nasty rumor spread about them. Where women starve themselves for beauty and milk their banks dry in search of happiness. Where true joy is so rare to come by. 

I prepared for Africa for months. The culture shock was unnerving, but bearable. The people were kind and patient. If you smiled and waved to a stranger, they wouldn’t look at you funny, but instead return the gesture. I prepared for months for the stories I would hear and the pain I would feel. I was even prepared for the heartbreak, but I don’t think I was ever prepared for the mark this experience left on my heart. By Saturday evening, I was so physically tired, mentally unstable, and emotionally drained, I didn’t know what to do. 

But here’s the thing. I was uncomfortable in Zambia, but I was happy. I was joyful there. I was spiritual and I was fired up for the Lord. In America, I was comfortable. I was blessed and I was rich. I am blessed and I am rich. But I don’t think I was ever happy like I was in Zambia. I don’t think I ever smiled righteously like I did at Camp Hope. I think I was too concerned with being comfy to worry about being joyful.

And that’s what I am not prepared for when I go back to America. The culture shock of my home and my own people will probably make me a bitter soul. Just going on Facebook made me upset. But I don’t want to be upset or bitter. I don’t want to be so concerned with comfort that I forget about my joy. I want to be full of life, not full of… stuff. Stuff like money or stuff like fame. Stuff like popularity or stuff like pride. I want to just live, I want to walk alongside Jesus and be filled with the Holy Spirit. I don’t want to be happy. I don’t care about happiness. I don’t care about whether or not I am smiling.

I just want joy. The kind those kids, who I considered to have nothing, taught me.

Prayer Requests

Here is my list of prayer requests for each child of my group and even for my Translator.

Shakaiana (we nicknamed him Shaka) has lost his mom, but he lives with his mom, aunt, and sister. He was already a strong and well-versed Christian when he came to the camp. He is such a bright kid, but he told us that he doesn’t do very well in school. His teacher doesn’t seem to like Shaka and is unfairly giving him bad grades. We know it isn’t some story, because we’ve seen how smart he is! He answers every question and even tried to double as a translator for me sometimes. He’s eleven. Please pray for his teacher to soften on him, despite her own opinion, and give him the grades he deserves because he really wants to do well in school.

Eneles is a sweet little girl. She lost her mom when she was young and her dad left her family when Eneles was born. She lieves with her grandma and walked two kilometers everyday to camp. She became a Christian at camp. Please pray for her new life as a Christian and for her to not lose hope in her new eternal family and loving Heavenly Father. 

Velonica you’ve already heard about. Please prayer for her to concentrate better in school. She asked me that specifically. She also wants prayer for her when she goes to confession, because she’s Catholic, and she gets nervous in the confession box. Also, pray for her to smile and be joyful despite her sorrows. 

Enocent, oh wow Enocent, probably the sweetest and most lovable boy ever. When he smiles, he really does make you want to smile too. His father died when he was young and he also became a Christian at camp. Pray for him and the large family he lives with (mom, grandmom, aunt, and four brothers all in a small house probably meant for three or four people) Pray for him to continue smiling and doing well in school.

Ackson is the one I want to send to My Father’s House. Please pray that Momma (Margaret) gets to him soon and gets him into a home. Please pray the he soon has warmth and food and love. All the love he deserves, him and his little brother. Pray that his grandfather softens. If anything, pray that if his grandfather is about to beat him, that he will suddenly be subdued. Or that if isn’t able to finish his food and he has enough left that the children can have a meal. Pray for their salvation from their grandfather’s evilness. 

Richard lost his father when he was young and he got very upset and wouldn’t talk about it. He became a Christian at camp and pray that he finds every joy that he deserves. 

Yotamu (pronounced Yoh-tawm) has a difficult story. His mother was very young when she got pregnant with him. She was a rape victim and the rapist, his father, was sent away after the incident. His mom left Yotamu with her parents, his grandparents, because she couldn’t afford him. Yotamu’s grown accustomed to calling his grandparents Mom and Dad because that’s who’ve they’ve become to him. Pray that he continues to smile and he also became a Christian at camp, so pray for his new devotion to Jesus.

Alfred was already a Christian and is the son of our translator. His mother died when he was young and he lives with Leonard, our translator, and his step-mom, Leonard’s new wife. Pray for their happiness and prosperity.

Salomi is one of the sweetest little girls, I swear. I feel like I say it about every child, but everything I say is true. Her laugh brings me not happiness but joy. She laughs and smiles so easily, but she lost her dad when she was young. Pray that she continues to smile and that she has enough food and money for school.

Rolent was the first child that I converted to Christ. Pray for his new life with Christ and pray that his family has enough money and food.

Idah was so beautiful. She was the type of girl that you just know will be a looker when she grows up. She was so smart and funny too. She just wanted to be hugged and loved. She loved fooling me and Anna into thinking that she couldn’t speak English, but one day after lunch, she came up to us and asked, “Where’s the ball?”

“Oh, so you DO speak English!” Anna exclaimed.

Idah smiled, sheepishly. “Noooo.”

“How many sisters do you have?” Anna asked.

“Three.” Idah answered.

“Ah-hah!”

That was the funniest thing that happened with Idah. She was so sweet. She lost her dad and lives with seven people in her small house. She also became a Christian this week. She’s a star at Net Ball, which is a combination of Handball and Basketball. Pray that she does well in school and lives out every dream she has, her career wishes, her food and money hopes, and her school expectations. 

Nyembezi was a stone-strong-silent type of soul and never gave into a smile easily, but when you made her smile, you could just see her walls crack with every grin and every laugh. Her dad died and she lives with just her mom. Pray that she keeps her hope and she keeps her strength. 

Benson was such a little stud and he always made me laugh. He had this cute little round face and this big smirk on his face. He was always playing the class clown and he was always trying his best at everything. He lost his dad and lives with his mom, brother, and sister, who both came to camp. He asked for prayer for his family to have enough food to go around the family. He also asked for prayer for their money and income because they don’t always have enough for school. 

Royce I saved for last of the kids because she really touched my heart the most. She was the most adorable little girl and was my favorite. Whenever you looked over to see what she was drawing, she’d grin, embarrassed, and shy away from you giggling. She loved to jump around and sing and dance. She was so filled with joy that I never expected the one-on-one experienced we shared. She lost her mom when she was born and lives with her dad, step mom, and younger sister. I explained to her what being a Christian meant and what Jesus had done for her. I explained to her what being a part of God’s family meant and I had my arm around her while she prayed the sinner’s prayer. As I hugged her tighter, my eyes were closed as I had her repeat after me. Suddenly I began to feel water droplets on my wrist. I cracked one eye open when I heard her voice shudder and I realized that she was crying. She was still sobbing even after we said Amen. I hugged her tighter and she finally gave in and leaned into my shoulder, tears stained my sleeve, but I didn’t care. I asked her why she was crying. I asked her if she was happy or sad, very softly, and waited for Leonard to translate. When he didn’t I turned to see him in tears too. He quickly wiped them away and muttered, “S-Sorry, I…I was touched. I…I am touched.” We were all quiet for awhile before Leonard spoke up, saying, “I think she is crying because you have given her such love and such hope.”

And then I almost lost in. I sucked in a shallow breath to keep my secret tears from escaping and instead kissed Royce on the head. When she calmed down and we stood up, I didn’t even have to ask. She wrapped her arms around my middle and we walked like that all the back to the group. When she faced the other children and Anna, she started to smile, and I could tell in her eyes and in her laugh that she was so happy, she couldn’t cry any longer. 

Finally, I ask for prayer for my translator, Leonard. He is truly a godly man, but seven years ago, he was an alcoholic. He’s been clean for seven years and asked for prayer that he kept it up. See, in Zambia, bars are open 24/7. Men leave their family, leave the mothers and children, to go get drunk. They drink away all the money in attempt to drink away the situation they’re in. Leonard chose against that lifestyle and instead wants to provide for his family. He wants to lead them in the name of the Holy Spirit. He wants Alfred to go to school and be somebody. He wants to evangelize and lead others to Christ. Pray that his godly prayers are answered. Pray that this inspiring man does not falter. 

Velonica and the Good Man vs. the Bad Man

There was this one girl who was so quiet, but so sweet. She rarely smiled, but whenever she did, it was the kind of thing that could light up a room. She never said a word in the beginning, she just sat really close to me. She held my hand and she loved when I hugged her. Some of the boys would tease her and she’d start crying. All the other kids would leave her alone, but I’d hold her and tell her, “It’s okay to cry, shh.” The girls were all so sweet, but this girl was one of my favorites. Her name is Velonica. She lost both parents, but not for run-of-the-mill reasons. She told me that they died from witchcraft. There’s a lot of voodoo around Zambia and there’s even a church where they invite spirits into the children and worship them. In America, if someone is listless and vacant or inappropriate, we assume they didn’t get enough sleep or are having a bad day or weren’t raised well. In Zambia, it’s a demon. No questions asked. 

Anyways, when she told me that her parents died from voodoo, I feared for her and the fact that she was exposed to something like that at such a young age. She told me her aunt had taken her after her parents died and that she goes to Catholic Church every Sunday. I led her to Christ anyways because sometimes Catholic priests don’t teach a relationship with Christ, they just preach of a meticulous religion and rigorous steps to get to Heaven. Velonica now knows that all you need to get to Heaven is Jesus. 

My dad told his group a story that was raw and taught this concept well. The ending was a shock to the kids and even his translator, Maggie. The story was of two men. One man was a good man who went to church every day and prayed and gave to charity, but he never accepted Christ. The other man wasn’t a good man. In fact, he had led a pretty bad life, but towards the end of his life, he discovered and accepted Jesus with all his heart. Anyways, the two men went the gates of Heaven when they died and there was Peter as the gatekeeper. 

He said to the first man, “Why should I let you into Heaven.”

 

The Good Man replied, “Well, I’ve been pretty good all my life, I’ve given to charity, I’ve gone to church, and I’ve prayed every day. I love God very much.”

Peter shook his head and turned to the next man. “Why should I let you into Heaven?”

The Not-So-Good Man humbly answered, “I haven’t been as good as him. I have stolen from my friends and family, I have hit, and I have sinned. But I believe that Jesus died on the cross for me to know the Father and I accepted him into my heart to clean away all my sins. I believe that Jesus will be my ticket into Heaven.”

Peter then opened the gates and let the Not-So-Good Man into Heaven. 

But not the Good Man. Because he did not have Jesus, the Good Man had no ticket to get past Peter. 

And this story was such a shocking eye-opener for my dad’s group, and even myself, that I thought it’d be a good story to mention on here.

8/15/11 - Beginning of recap/thoughts

*** For the record, I only got internet like once or twice in Zambia, so that's why I couldn't update as often as I wanted to***

Sitting here on the plane, thinking this week through, it’s hard to contemplate everything I’ve experienced. To do a quick synopsis of the rest of the week after last Tuesday, Wednesday was when Anna Gentry and I started to do one-on-ones with our kids. We did these until the very last day and kids usually chose Anna, but I was honored when a few smiled and pointed to me. Some of them I was even surprised that they pointed to me. On Wednesday, I talked to a boy named Rolent, who was our translator’s nephew. He lost his father a few years ago and his mother moved to Lusaka to work in the markets selling things to support her family. Rolent lives with his grandmother and told me that he goes to church every Sunday. He was the first child that I led to Christ and afterwards, I could see his eyes go red, but Zambians don’t like to let their kids cry, especially the boys, so he kept himself composed. It was a little heartbreaking, but I let him know he was a part of a new family that would never be broken up by death or someone leaving. He was thoughtful and quiet the rest of the day. On Thursday, he was smiling at me again. I talked to a few more kids before we had to leave on Friday and I heard so many stories. 

Except, they weren’t just sob stories. Most people would hear them from someone else and when you’re home in the U.S. and you’ve never met he child and you’re surrounded by all your luxury, money, and pride, it’s so easy to say, “That sucks,” then change the subject to keep it from getting you down. We just hate to be brought down, don’t we? Sadness is such an inconvenience, but for these kids, there gorgeous, joyful, smiling, and innocent children, it’s a daily reality. With every child, my heart broke. It wasn’t the small feeling of someone tapping at your glass heart and the sound of the tapping makes you grimace. It was the feeling of someone throwing a rock at it, the pain of the visible crack making you collapse. It was all I could do to look strong and comforting for these children.

There was one boy that I just wanted to sweep up in my arms and take him away from his home-heartbreak. His name is Ackson and I told Momma, which is what we call Margaret, the woman who is in charge of the My Father’s Houses, about excepting him into a home. He told me he lost both his parents and he lives with his grandfather, two older sisters (17 and 18 years old), and younger 6 year old brother. It sounds sad, but liveable, right? At least he has family? Except the facts that his grandfather doesn’t feed Ackson or his siblings at all, beats them, and has flat out told them and everyone that he does not want them. He sees Ackson, adorably and easily-lovable Ackson and his no doubt lovable siblings, as such burdens. His sister are the only ways Ackson gets any food, and even what they give him is very little. He told me that they are old enough to marry now and that if they marry, they will leave the house and not take him or his little brother with them. That almost did me in and my vision was clouded with such anger. That meant that Ackson and his little brother wouldn’t get any food at all, because their own grandfather sees them as such inconveniences. It was the kind of feeling that made you both want to steal those children away from that pain and slap the grandfather right across the face. 

But while telling me, Ackson had this sort of smile of his face, the kind of expression that was reluctant and a “oh well, this is my life,” hopelessness. 

There is some good news, though. Ackson accepted Christ into his heart on Friday around eleven o’clock in the morning. I gave Ackson a big hug and I wouldn’t let go until my Translator told me it was probably time to get back to the group. Please pray for him. He is the sweetest child you’ll ever meet. All of them are. They seem so much better than American children. There are some sweet children out there in our country, for example we had some kids on our mission trip, the Gruvers, and their children were so cute and sweet and happy. But there are also children, especially where I live, Loudoun County, the richest county in America, where kids have everything—all the food they could want, iPads, iPods, computers, phones, shelter, both parents, love, friends, school, and futures set—and yet they whine and scream and throw tantrums. I admit I was that kind of brat when I was younger too. I wouldn’t get the Barbie I wanted and I’d embarrass my mom so badly right in the middle of the store because I was so spoiled. And yet here are these children and they don’t get enough food for the day, and they’re still coming to camp with smiles and they give a little curtsy when you give them something as simple as a t-shirt and craft. It’s amazing and heartbreaking and incredible. This is the type of experience that makes you want to laugh with the kids and then cry yourself to sleep over their sorrows.