Still

I started my day watching the sun come up from behind Mount Legogote, inhaling the spicy steam of my cup of coffee and being still. 

Still isn't my favourite posture; I'd rather be working or cooking or dancing round the kitchen. 

But still is something I've had to learn (and not necessarily by choice). And to be honest, it's teaching me a lot. It's teaching me not to strive for things so completely in my own efforts. It's teaching me that stubbornness can be both my greatest asset and my biggest flaw. It's teaching me that having a Mary heart in a Martha world is a constant choice. And sometimes I get it right, but sometimes I don't. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about desert places, not least because today is our Hands Global Day of Prayer and Fasting for the drought that has ravaged so many of the communities we work in across Africa. In many ways, the last little while has felt like a desert season. I’ve had to leave Zambia and go through a seemingly endless rotation of doctors, physio and chiropractors. It certainly wasn’t how I’d envisaged spending the last month. I haven’t been able to work, and have spent the vast majority of time getting very well acquainted with various different concrete or tiled floors. 

But God so often uses the desert seasons to draw us away, to speak to the depths of our souls the things that we busy ourselves too much to hear. And so in a very strange way, I’m so incredibly thankful for the season I’m finding myself in. It’s an exercise in patience and trust and in swallowing the pride that I cloak in independence. It’s an open invitation to get away and discover what real rest looks like (Matt. 11:28 in the Message puts it far better than I ever could).

And so here in South Africa, it’s well with my soul. Because of who my God is, because of the beautiful family he has called me into, and because I trust that he absolutely knows what he’s doing in this season (even if I don’t). I believe that he is a faithful father who delights in giving good gifts to his children. I am convinced of the power of prayer, to bring healing, to bring life, to bring water to the spiritual and physical dryness we so often experience. So please, join with me as we pray for Africa’s most vulnerable today, believing that God can and will bring change. 

There’s a prayer guide available here

I was on the road before it was light this morning, heading down to Kabwe. As the sun came up, blazing orange in a wispy, pale blue sky, I began to see the demo fields planted by the seed manufacturers that we're driving by. The maize in its furrows is brown and crisp, hanging limp in defeat. This green drought has left such a huge mark. And it's not just affecting Zambia. The whole of sub-Sharan Africa is feeling it. In Swaziland, food prices have increased 60%, and in Malawi it's up to 73%. Take a moment and imagine if your weekly shop at the grocery store had increased that much. How long could you hold out? What would you have to give up to make sure there was food on the table? 

I see a boy walking alone by the side of the road, his thin arms wrapped around his waist in an attempt to keep his body heat in. His gaze catches mine as we drive past, and I want to be able to stop; to ask his name and whether there's anyone that knows where he is, or cares. 

I spend my day in meetings, talking about the communities in Kabwe we support, and more than 600 children that that represents. But I'm still thinking about that one little boy in the green shorts that I saw this morning. The difference between him and the children I spent my day focusing on is that someone does know their names. They have Care Workers who give of themselves to provide parental care to the most vulnerable children in their community. 

But these communities are suffering under the drought too. Food prices are increasing here, and some of our communities are likely to be without any accessible source of water within the 5 months. 

Please don't just disregard all of this because it's happening thousands of miles away from your front door. Listen to what's happening in other countries, and check out Hands at Work for ways in which you can get involved. 

Droughts, Power Outages and the Wall Street Journal

It’s not often that the places we work in make the global news. And mostly I’m grateful for that, because it means that we’re not in the middle of a war zone, or the centre of a political scandal. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t things happening here that deserve to get reported or shared with the rest of the world. 

On March 4th, the Wall Street Journal wrote an article on the state of Zambia’s economic and social situation. You can find it here. 

Read it? Surprised by what you learnt? It’s strange seeing an article in such a well-respected publication that references the mall where I do my groceries, or the market where I buy my fabric from. 

I’d like to be able to tell you that this article is sensationalising the situation in Zambia; to tell you that people like Grace Kunda, whose husband killed himself with pesticide because of the hopelessness of losing his livelihood don’t really live here. But I can’t do that, because that wouldn’t be the truth. 

Instead, I want to tell you about the other side of the story. I want to tell you about some twins I know, Bupe and Mwansa*, that live in a periurban community on the outskirts of Kitwe. They live with their grandparents, mother, aunt and a couple of cousins. Their grandmother has buried six of her eleven children over the past decade, and their eighty-four year old grandfather who was a miner now risks getting arrested to make charcoal. He’s been arrested three times so far for trespassing to collect the wood he needs to turn into charcoal, but he won’t give up because he feels that he has to do something to support his family. The drought that has gripped southern Africa means that this family along with many others are unlikely to grow enough food to support themselves this year.  And theirs is just one story; there are so many other families I could tell you about living in the communities we serve across Zambia, facing similar challenges to Bupe and Mwansa. 

The need here is so real, so tangible. It goes beyond the economic forecasts, the power outages and the drought. It reaches to the God-shaped hole in the heart of every human being. 

And therein lies the answer to so many of the problems here in Zambia and across the eight countries Hands at Work works in. I don’t even want to start on the hypocrisy of saying there’s an ‘economic war’ from the comfort of a sprawling compound. The only way that things here are going to get better, and children like Bupe and Mwansa will have a chance at breaking out of the poverty cycle is through the church. It’s through the church in our communities waking up to the need around them, and sending Care Workers to bring hope and encouragement and the love of Christ into homes that are filled with hopelessness. It’s through the church outside Africa standing up for children like Bupe and Mwansa, praying for them and advocating for them, sacrificing so that they can access basic healthcare, basic education and food security. 

I’ve seen the transformation that comes into a home when a care giver like Bupe’s grandmother understands the depth of God’s love for her. It transcends the hurts and the hardships, the suffering and the grief. It brings strength and life and the perseverance to care for our children even in the most difficult of circumstances. 

 Please keep praying for all those that work in our Regional Support Teams, both in South Africa and Zambia, as well as for our local offices, and our Care Workers in our communities across Africa, as each of us seek to reach out to children like Bupe and Mwansa. There’s still time to join 40 Days of Prayer as part of Lent; you can access the prayer guide here.

*names have been changed

A year of firsts...

It's only the middle of January, but 2016 is already proving to be a year of firsts. It's the first time I've seen in a new year in Africa, the first time I've let a chameleon sit on my shoulder, the first time I've welcomed home a German Shepherd puppy, the first time I've actually managed to buy a diary IN JANUARY-look how organised I'm becoming!- and the first time in a really long time that I feel ready.

As I sit on the floor of the laundry watching Max settle down for his first night in his new home, I'm struck that I have no idea what this year is going to look like, or where God is going to take me. And that could be a terrifying thing. But I choose to see it as something wonderful.

The end of 2015 forced me to grow and face challenges that I didn't see coming. It forced me to take a really long look at myself, to see those things in me that aren't the way God intended me to be. And it challenged me deeply about why I do what I do; why I live and serve here, and not in England.

Whilst I am not expecting 2016 to be easy, I am expecting it to be a year of growth. I believe, now more than ever, the words of this beautiful hymn:

"Because He lives, I can face tomorrow

Because He lives, all fear is gone

Because I know He holds the future

And life is worth the living just because He lives"

As I step into the unknown, I'm asking if you'll walk with me this year, one step at a time. Because it's going to be quite something, and I for once can't wait to see what God does next.

P.S. This is Max. He's a darling :)

Two homecomings in as many weeks

I’m back in home in Zambia after a whistle stop trip to the UK because I made a promise. Thank you to every single one of you who made this short trip so sweet (and really, you all ought to thank Laura and Terence for getting married- it was a beautiful day guys, thank you so much for letting me be a part of it!)

I’m overwhelmed by support from people who I’ve been terrible at keeping in contact with, who welcomed me back with open arms. I’m reminded once again that I really couldn’t do what I do without all of you wonderful people supporting me and faithfully lifting me up in prayer. I don’t have enough words to express how much that means, and I’m going to endeavour to be in touch more frequently!

Thank you to each of you who asked me about Hands and took an interest. Thank you for standing with me and wanting to be a part of something so much bigger- thank you for wanting to see Jesus move and bring transformational healing across Zambia and the other countries Hands works in. We’re one church, one family, one body. It’s just as much the responsibility of the church outside Africa as the local church. 

I’m humbled by how many of you wanted to just sit and ask me questions about what my life looks like here in Zambia, and how God has been changing my story as I work with Hands. Because it’s true; transformation has to start with us. And I’m really pleased that I’m not the same person that left the UK to embark on an adventure in February. 

A few of the lovely people on my intake and the one before have been sharing thoughts on the journeys we’ve been on; check it here

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As this song is one of my favourites at the moment, I thought I’d share the lyrics, mostly because it’s pretty wonderful, but also because it’s far more eloquent than I could ever be!

Finally Free- Rend Collective

Your mercy rains from heaven

Like confetti at a wedding

And I am celebrating

In the downpour

Your heart is wild with colour

Like a never-ending summer

You burn away the winter

Of my cold and weary heart

My soul cries out holy, holy

My heart is lost in Your beauty

All hope is found in Your mercy

You paid the price now I am

Finally free

Your grace, oh God's the anchor

That's holding me forever

Come trouble or high water

I am steadfast

Yeah, you lift me when I'm sinking

Like the swell of mighty oceans

The power of redemption

Yeah, it gives me wings to soar

My soul cries out holy, holy

My heart is lost in Your beauty

All hope is found in Your mercy

You paid the price now I am

Finally free

We'll cast our crowns before Him

Like the rusting leaves of autumn

Now every chain lies broken

And finally we're free

My soul cries out holy, holy

My heart is lost in Your beauty

All hope is found in Your mercy

You paid the price now I am

Finally free

Now imagine singing it in a beautiful little country church at the wedding of some of your favourite people :) 

Whilst it’s never going to be easy leaving the UK, I have the incredible privilege of coming home. It’s a beautiful thing when you get to create little pieces of home across the globe! 

Until next time, England!

Where is your comfort?

I can’t quite believe that I’ve been in Zambia for almost two months. Time does strange things here; it’s flown by, but at the same time it feels like forever ago that I was in South Africa.

I’ve been thrown out of my comfort zone yet again, and had the opportunity to serve this community in ways that I certainly didn’t see coming when I touched down in Ndola.

Here at Kachele, we’ve just finished a three week period of prayer and fasting. It’s been an incredible time of coming together as a community and humbling ourselves before our heavenly Father.

I don’t even really know where to start with what God has been teaching me over the last month, but I’m going to try, because it’s important. So I’m just going to ask that you’ll have grace with me as I try to express it in my clumsy, awkward words.

I started off the period expecting that God would move in my life, and the lives of those I live with and love dearly. And if the testimonies that have come out since are anything to go by, He certainly did. Over and above anything we could have dared to dream.

There’s a beautiful scripture in Jeremiah 33 that says if you call on the Lord, He will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things. Not that He might, or He’ll answer you if He feels like it, but He will. All you have to do is cry out. Our heavenly Father is just waiting for His kids to speak out. I’ve been floored again by how incredible that promise is. That tiny, insignificant me has the audience of the Creator of the Universe, and He’s concerned about the little things that are bothering me.

God has been challenging me about love, and where my comfort is. There are so many times over the past few weeks that I could have been overwhelmed. But time and again I’ve been reminded of how much I need God’s grace to pick me up when I fall down and to gently remind me that He is my safe place, my comfort, my home. I think it’s Spurgeon that said you only truly know that God is all you need, when God is all you have.

I read this beautiful piece by Henri Nowen, about the shift from solitude to community to ministry. He makes this incredibly eloquent argument that it is only when we truly embrace our identity as God’s beloved child that we find peace and comfort. We finally can forgive those who weren’t able to love us as we needed them to, and to forgive ourselves for the times when we couldn’t love others as we would have wanted.

As Christians, almost all of us are going to be familiar with 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. You’ve probably heard it at a wedding at some point. It says “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” But how often do we stop to think about what this kind of love actually looks like? It’s the kind of love that lifts you out of the darkest places, that gently shines a light on those things you’d rather were hidden. That says ‘I want what is best for you, even if it’s going to cost me’. The kind of love that God has for his children. And the kind of love we’re called as his children to strive for in our own lives. So I’m trying, and I’m very aware of how often I fall short of loving like that, even when I so desperately want to. But in the meantime, as God calls me out into the great unknown, He is speaking gently to me and restoring what has been broken.

It's about that time again. Time to let you all know where I am, and what I’m doing. To be perfectly honest, I don’t always feel like I have the answers to those questions. Not in a way that I know how to verbalize, or explain to people so far removed from where I currently find myself. People who have faithfully supported me, prayed for me and loved me through every season.

So I made it safely to Zambia. I’m living on a beautiful property, near Luanshya, with a handful of other international volunteers and some incredible local Zambian leaders. I have the privilege of doing life with a wonderful group of people who I’m constantly learning from.

Because I’ve only been here for just over a week, I’m still getting a grasp on what my role is going to be within the Zambia RST. I could tell you about the five Service Centres we support; three in Zambia, one in DRC and one in Malawi. But that wouldn’t really get closer to what I’m doing or why any of us are here with Hands.

Instead, if you’ll let me, I want to draw your focus closer. Closer to the rust-coloured earth of the Copperbelt. I want to transport you to a small community tucked away behind Kitwe, a bustling market town. A community whose name in Bemba means ‘Welcome’. The first community I visited in Zambia.

I want to introduce you to a small community school meeting in the Community Hall. A school filled with the most vulnerable children of the community; children who but for the work of the CBO wouldn’t receive any kind of education. I want you to sit on the dusty floor, and listen to the teachers as they help prepare these children to try and enter the government school programme. To comfort those who cry because they’re ashamed they can’t read and write like some of their peers. But most of all, I want to introduce you to the little boy called Jack* who sidled up next to me and put his head on my lap because he missed his mother.  Because I don’t have the words to explain the depths of heartache, or the devastating brokenness that surrounds our children.

But I also want you to understand the incredible difference that our Care Workers are making. Without them, children like Jack wouldn’t be known by name or have someone to share their challenges and celebrate when they get a good score on a test in class. These Care Workers provide a parental figure, a point of stability and safety; something that so many of us take for granted.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter what my title is here, or what my 9-5 schedule looks like. Those aren’t the things that are important in the grand scheme of why I’m here in Zambia. Because as far as I can see, I’m here to serve. In whatever capacity, and however I can. Whether that means helping to take minutes in a meeting, drafting agreements or getting to know the people I live with so I can better support them, it’s all worthwhile. And in this beautiful, Kingdom-cultured community, it’s about who I am, as a child of God, and not about what I can do.

*Names have been changed

P.S. This is where I live now; how incredible is that?