An African Journey: Post Six - The Gift of Sight

A continuing series of reflections built around newly-scanned photos from long ago. From 1966-1968, we lived in Choma, Zambia, teaching school, running a 'book-room' (a small book store with a surprising reach, providing educational resources to the entire southern province), living in close quarters with missionaries and other volunteer workers and enjoying wonderful opportunities to travel and explore the great continent of Africa.

We were so young and our eyes were not as finely tuned as they are now. Too often, we didn't know what we were seeing, we didn't value what came to us as gift and treasure because of the remarkable place in which we were living and the truly gifted and committed friends who shared that living space with us. 

But when we took the time to move out from the schedules and the commitments, to travel and see the sights -- that's when our eyes finally began to open and we enjoyed brief moments of insight, clarity and wonder.

Driving through a wide variety of 'game parks' was a visual delight, a smorgasbord of color, imaginative creative detail and environmental adaptability.

From long-necked giraffes to graceful gazelles,

to the realities of 'nature, red in tooth and claw,'

a beautiful impala, recently killed by a mama cheetah who had three hungry cubs to feed

we developed a deeper appreciation for God's created order

and for the realities of wildlife conservation and its importance.

Almost our first weekend there, we traveled out into the bush for a baptism ceremony, staying overnight in this grass hut.

One night.

My husband was sick the entire night

and I was pretty much terrified.

Yet people around the world live in spaces like this all the time. How blessed we are to live with the creature comforts we do -- and how valuable it is to experience even a little bit of what everyday life is like 

for so many people in this world. 

Watching a crew of strong African men create the building blocks for homes and hospitals brought the sober realization that our friends could not take a trip to the nearby home improvement center and purchase everything they needed for a DIY project. These adobe bricks required hard work, several days in the sun to harden up, and then the actual building could commence.

We were newlyweds while we lived in Zambia and it was important for us to remember that from time to time.

When our friends lived nearby, we took a couple of short trips together, just for fun and exploration.

This one was to the capital of Lusaka, enjoying the closest thing to a department store within a couple of hundred miles, admiring 'curios' being sold by the side of the road and making a stop at a beautiful roadside garden.

This is the president's mansion just outside of Lusaka. Kenneth Kaunda was the first president of this new land and he remained in office for nearly 30 years.

After Lisa was born, we took that corrugated dirt road a lot further into the bush for a weekend with a sports-master friend who lived and worked 100 miles into the back country, near the Kafue River.

Dick was the sports-master at Choma Secondary School.

He also taught civics and a beginning business class called 'commerce.'

This kind gentleman (whose name we have forgotten) came from Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) to work and support his family.

His family, however, did not make the move.

We enjoyed a great soccer match and a wonderful curry dinner, which he made for us in his small kitchen.

This bridge crosses the Kafue River, either just south of Lusaka or out further into the bush. Since the road is paved, I'm guessing we're nearer to city life in this picture.

But this is a river shot from further in the back country

and this cheerful young man played us a tune somewhere off the paved road.

Early in our time there, we went with our friends to see Kafue Dam, one of the more modern wonders of this new country.

We were too naive to realize that swimming in a reservoir is not a great idea AND that the waters in this place contain really harmful parasites. Fortunately, we did not become infected.

While he worked in the bookroom, before he began teaching, my husband took a trip to the mining towns of Ndola, Broken Hill and Kitwe.

Copper mining was hugely important and the rise and fall of copper prices has wreaked havoc with Zambian economy for decades.

When he did begin to work at the secondary school, it turned out that my husband was an excellent teacher, investing heavily in his students. He found a series of exams published in Britain, designed for commerce and business students, and he helped his small class of about a dozen students prepare for and pass them. This provided them with some important certification of excellence as they prepared to move out into living in the 20th century, finding a job and supporting a family.

He also took his students on some excellent field trips.

A larger group went in the back of a big truck to see Victoria Falls, almost all of them for the first time in their lives.

And he took his civics class to the capital city to tour the governmental buildings and see first-hand how their new democracy was working.

It was his job as the sports-master, however, that brought him the greatest joy and enabled him to travel to a variety of different secondary school settings in our district. We had two champion distance runners, pictured below -- and their names were Hercules and Samson. No kidding. 

And they were great runners.

We have tried several times to discover what became of these young men and others of those we loved while we lived among them. We kept track pretty well for about five years. And then the AIDS epidemic began in southern Africa and many of the students we knew were lost to that dreadful disease, most of them in the earliest years of its scourge-like impact on the continent, before we even knew what it was.

To this day, we are grateful for the experiences of 45 years ago, and we have been marked in deep and significant ways by our time living 

and working in a cross-cultural setting. 

At some point, I hope to write more reflectively about the missionary sub-culture and its impact on our thinking 

about how we did church in the mid-20th century.

There is much to criticize and regret.

But there is also much to celebrate and treasure,

chiefly the faithfulness of previous generations who came and built schools and hospitals as well as churches and chapels. Workers who believed that to be true to the gospel meant living it out in a holistic way, taking the good news to people who needed to experience it as well as hear it, 

who deserved education and health care 

as well as gospel tracts and evangelistic sermons,

servants who took Jesus' own stated commission from the pages of Isaiah, who brought sight to the blind, health to the sick, hope to the downhearted.

The good work that continues in that place is built on that sturdy foundation and we thank God for it, and for them.

A Season for the King

We were late to church yesterday morning.

Lots of travel last week,

all of it good, fun, comforting, interesting.

But . . .

we were tired

and moving very s-l-o-w-l-y.

The sanctuary was full as we snuck in the back door,

so we sat in the balcony,

which provides an unusual view.

The large chandeliers that took on the look of a double crown in the photograph.

 It wasn't until I looked at the photo 

that I saw that our view was remarkably apt

for this particular Sunday in the church calendar:

Christ the King Sunday,

the last one in the liturgical year.

Next Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent, 

the turning of a new calendar page.

But yesterday. . .

yesterday was a celebration of the Cosmic Christ,

the One who sits at the right hand of the Father,

the One who will come again in glory,

the One who intercedes for us,

who reigns on our behalf,

and the One for whom the stars sing.

 In the northern hemisphere,

this Sunday comes in the midst of Autumn,

the time of dying,

dying in full, vibrant color.

 It feels fitting to celebrate Christ as King

in this season of the year,

perhaps because it also feels a little bit upside-down.

Wouldn't the bright pinks and purples of spring or summer

be better suited to this kind of recognition?

 Christ is surely King in any season of our years,

but somehow the Fall feels 'right' to me,

a good season to make special note of this truth.

After all, Jesus did not become the kind of king 

that people were anticipating.

He shattered every preconception, every expectation,

every dream that was built on the power structures of our world.

In ways that are deep and profound,

Jesus of Nazareth did not become

Christ the King until

after

the cross,

the empty tomb,

the ascension into the heavenly realms.

Is there any more backwards way to become

a person of royalty than his way?

The way of death,

and resurrection,

and ascension?

 So as the days get shorter,

and the hours of darkness grow;

as the leaves turn brilliant in their farewell address,

as the flowers dry on the stem

and the shadows lengthen on the lawn,

this is the time,

the perfect time,

to remember and to honor our King.

The One who was with God and who became a human person,

taking that long and winding downward journey,

living a more fully human life than any other ever has.

He died an ignominious death,

and by that death and the resurrection

which followed it,

brought us the gift of Full Life

in fellowship with the Triune God.

Only then, did he return to his rightful place

on the throne.

So YES, this season seems about right.

The season of dying in full, vibrant color.

 On this Sunday, we celebrate that the King is for us.

We remember the greatness of our God,

we acknowledge the Glory of a Savior

who is much grander, fuller, more all-compassing

than any Being we can imagine or dream.

Lord of the Harvest?

Surely so.

 Grand Creator of the universe in all its richness and variety?

Yes and amen. 

The One who is above all, around all,

through all and in all?

Yes, yes, yes and YES.

So we sing, "Holy, Holy, Holy," and

"Crown Him with Many Crowns," and

"Creation Song," and "Revelation Song," and

any other hymn of praise that rises to our lips

as we recognize the Bigness of our God.

Next week, we celebrate the Littleness.

Isn't that amazing?

Joining this with Laura Boggess and Jen Ferguson and the Sisterhood, with Cheryl Hyatt Smith and Ann Voskamp this week.

Doesn't quite fit any of their themes exactly, but. . . this is what I've got.

   

Of Sunshine and Seasides and Hope - A Photo Essay

See that girl in the pink?

She is the best medicine in our lives just now,

and we had ourselves a good, healthy dose yesterday.

Last week's visit to my mom was hard,

and the road ahead will continue to be so. 

This end-of-life journey will be fraught with 

confusion and loss

and I will hate it.

A lot.

I am talking to God about it,

often yelling while I do,

but also coming back round to center,

remembering that no matter how lost

my mother feels to me,

she is never lost to God.

Never.

So. Yesterday was a school holiday for our girl,

and we were given the gift of being with her.

The.Entire.Day.

She sprang through our door about 8:45 a.m.,

dressed from head to toe in HOT pink,

complete with sequins lining the pockets of her fleece jacket.

A new outfit from Target, picked out by herself. . .

and of course, it had to be pink.

And not just pink, but PINK. 

We pulled out the Lego bins, filled with

colorful bricks that once belonged to her dad,

and she dug in with gusto.

Almost three hours for this 7-year-old

of creating, disassembling, re-arranging

and fun. 

I sat at the table, 10 feet away,

reading blogs and email,

 enjoying her easy company and occasional conversation.

Then we piled into the car about noon,

and headed out to the wharf.

It was a stunning day.

Crystal clear, about 60 degrees, 

with warm sun on our shoulders.

We went to the local Sea Center,

a small marine museum, featuring exhibits

about the creatures which inhabit these coastal

waters in the Santa Barbara channel.

This is a very bright girl,

eternally curious and actively engaged with 

whatever is going on around her.

From tiger sharks to sea stars,

from restless Garibaldi to the breathtaking view 

out the back wall,

she explored it all.

In the 'wet room,' where buckets are dropped 

directly into the ocean through a large hole

in the wharf,

she watched, intrigued,

as several students older than she

put the contents of a bucketload through a 

sifter and then a microscope.

Upstairs was a small exhibit of jellyfish,

those brainless creatures of grace and transparency.

You can just make her out to the left of

the observation window, 

momentarily entranced.

Against a very dark wall, there was a slide

of moving shapes and colors

and Gracie wanted a picture in front of it.

A little bit too dark, however, 

and the flash obliterated the slide on the wall.

In the upstairs gangway, there was a small puppet theater,

which enraptured her. 

She had such fun entertaining us with

each and every one.

Each.And.Every.One.

Smile.

One look at this sweet girl's face

and all the sadness just sort of lifted

away like a cloak,

dropping to the floor around me.

This guy apparently inflicted some pain!

But the dolphin was sweet as could be.

We took her to lunch at Longboard's about 90 minutes later.

She loves the peanut barrel there,

where you can scoop up as much as you want,

eat as much as you want, and --

wait for it! --

toss all the peanut shells right onto the deck!

How cool is that??

We finished our adventure with a trip to the

ice cream shoppe -

single scoop of Cotton Candy on a sugar cone, please.

It even matched her outfit.

She ate every last bite, too --

without spilling a drop on her new outfit --

until that very last bite, when the cone

broke. . . and there was a bright blue

spot in the middle of all that pink.

As we sat in the sun, enjoying our ice cream,

this catamaran came within about a stone's throw,

gliding through the sea,

loaded with inquisitive tourists,

eager to view the coastline and enjoy

their afternoon on the water.

I took a deep breath, trying to capture the moment.

A beautiful grandchild - one of eight such

magnificent gifts in our life.

A spectacular day - in a magnificent location.

And we get to live here,

fifteen minutes from this girl and her sister.

The older kids live one to three hours south of here,

so these are the kiddos we see most often

and are graced to care for from time to time.

This, this is gift.

And I am grateful.

And for a while, as the sun shone down,

and the water sparkled,

and the glory-girl grinned her toothless

grin at me while her Poppy watched with love --

for a while, that hurting place in my heart

was healed right over.

Thank you, Gracie, for being you:

God's gift to all of us.

Signing on with Michelle DeRusha, Jen Ferguson, Laura Boggess and Ann Voskamp. Sad to say good-bye to Seedlings in Stone this week - but trust that Laura Barkat's fine work will continue to show up in some other sparkling setting - I know it will show up at TSP!