Friday, October 1, 2010

My African Grandmother, Part III

The sun comes up about 5:30 this time of year, and by 6:00 a.m. we were up and ready for the day. The first order of business was to prepare breakfast. Surprisingly, Elia’s granddaughters had left before the sun came up and would not return until lunch time. Our breakfast menu consisted of homemade biscuits, my aunt’s wonderful jam, tea and coffee.


Just as we were about to begin our morning interview, a young man entered the village. We greeted him in the customary way, and he sat down on one of the small African stools commonly used in the village. Another relative had come to visit; Elia’s nephew from a nearby village. He said he wanted to see his cousins (in Zambia they would be called “sisters”) and so he would be staying for the day. Elia later informed us that he is the only relative that helps her on a regular basis. He comes to collect firewood for her, although a recent job has kept him from coming as often as he would like.


We explained to him what we were doing, and he said he would stay and listen. He was a very quiet young man, but every now and then would help shed some light on Elia’s family, or explain something to her that she did not understand.


Even though Elia is 92, she did not tire as easily as I thought she would. I would ask her periodically if she wanted to take a rest, but she would insist that we keep going. We talked under the shade of the tree for several hours, and then I told her I needed to prepare lunch. I gave her some cookies (called biscuits in Zambia) and she ate almost the whole package while I cooked.


Elia’s granddaughters arrived home and helped prepare vegetables and nshima, while Elizabeth and I prepared the meat and potatoes. It is a good thing we prepared a lot, because just after we finished eating, another visitor arrived. She asked me, “Do you remember me?” How could I forget? I recognized this visitor as Elia’s niece. We had met her some years back when we took Elia to Livingston to visit her son. She had traveled with us to assist Elia. She was pregnant at the time, and on the way became sick. Poor Wes, he was sitting in the seat in front of her. I’ll let you just imagine what happened. Later we found out that she had named her new baby boy after Wes. We got to meet "little Wes," who is now about 4 years old.


After lunch I had hoped to wrap up the interview but the visitors did not leave. They were talking to one another, so I could not turn on my recorder. I decided to just sit and listen as best as I could since they were all speaking in Tonga. I used the opportunity to ask them a few questions about the family, and discovered that Elia had given birth to five children, three which are still living. These five children have given her 23 grandchildren, and her grandchildren have given her 32 great grandchildren. She even has one great great-grandchild. Sadly, many of them have never met this wonderful little lady.


Wes arrived sometime in the afternoon, and we set up his small tent. We had only been apart one day, but we are so used to being together all the time, that one day felt like an eternity!

For supper I made chicken strips to go with our rice, and the girls made some cabbage. As we sat out under the stars eating our supper, Elia said, “I feel like an American.” She was beaming from ear to ear and staying up way past her bedtime.


After another splash bath, it was time for bed. The second day had gone by very quickly and I was even considering staying another day, but that was about to change. In a nearby village, there was a wedding celebration underway. We could hear the drums beating and the people singing and shouting, but we truly hoped that it would not last past midnight. I managed to fall asleep for a few hours until the drum beating increased in intensity; it did not end until 6 a.m. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for Wes and I. Somehow Elizabeth managed to sleep through it all.


After breakfast we took down the tents, packed up and prepared to go to church. Elia put on her best blue skirt and a red hooded fleece sweatshirt. She looked like a little Eskimo all bundled up to go out into the snow; the temperature was at least in the 80s when we left for church.


After a morning of worshipping together in the little Baptist Church of Mujika, we took Elia back to her village. Although her granddaughters were still with her, we knew they would also be leaving soon. Our hearts felt sad to say good-bye, and she wanted to know why we had to rush off. I made a commitment right then that I would lift Elia up in prayer everyday. I can’t imagine how lonely she gets. I can’t imagine what it is like day in and day out to be alone. I’m just thankful she knows Jesus, who promises to never leave her or forsake her.


























The sun comes up about 5:30 this time of year, and by 6:00 a.m. we were up and ready for the day. The first order of business was to prepare breakfast. Surprisingly, Elia’s granddaughters had left before the sun came up and would not return until lunch time. Our breakfast menu consisted of homemade biscuits, my aunt’s wonderful jam, tea and coffee.


















Just as we were about to begin our morning interview, a young man entered the village. We greeted him and he sat down on one of the small African stools commonly used in the village. Another relative had come to visit; Elia’s nephew from a nearby village. He said he wanted to see his cousins (in Zambia they would be called “sisters”). Elia later informed us that he is the only relative that helps her on a regular basis. He comes to collect firewood for her, although a recent job has kept him from coming as often as he would like.














We explained to him what we were doing, and he said he would stay and listen. He was a very quiet young man, but every now and then would help shed some light on Elia’s family, or explain something to her that she did not understand.














Even though Elia is 92, she did not tire as easily as I thought she would. I would ask her periodically if she wanted to take a rest, but she would insist that we keep going. We talked under the shade of the tree for several hours, and then I told her I needed to prepare lunch. I gave her some cookies (called biscuits in Zambia) and she ate almost the whole package while I cooked.














Elia’s granddaughters arrived home, and helped prepare vegetables and nshima, while Elizabeth and I prepared the meat and potatoes. It is a good thing we prepared a lot, because just after we finished eating, another visitor arrived. She asked me, “Do you remember me?” How could I forget? I recognized this visitor as Elia’s niece. We had met her some years back when we took Elia to Livingston to see her son. This particular niece had traveled with us to assist Elia. She was pregnant at the time, and on the way, she got sick. Poor Wes, he was sitting in the seat in front of her. I’ll let you just imagine what happened. She felt so badly that she named her boy after him. We got to meet little Wes, who is now about 4 years old.














After lunch I had hoped to wrap up the interview, but the visitors did not leave. They were talking to one another, so I could not turn on my recorder. Therefore, I decided to just sit and listen as best as I could since they were all speaking in Tonga. I used the opportunity to ask them a few questions about the family, and I discovered that Elia gave birth to five children, three which are living. These five children gave her 23 grandchildren, and her grandchildren have given her 32 great grandchildren. She even has one great great-grandchild. Sadly, many of them have never met this wonderful little lady.














Wes arrived sometime in the afternoon, and we set up his small tent. We had only been apart one day, but we are so used to being together all the time, that one day felt like an eternity!














For supper I made chicken strips to go with our rice, and the girls made some cabbage. As we sat out under the stars eating our supper, Elia said, “I feel like an American.” She was beaming from ear to ear and staying up way past her bedtime.














After another splash bath, it was time for bed. The second day had gone by very quickly, and I truly was considering staying another day, but that was about to change. In a nearby village, there was a wedding celebration underway. We could hear the drums beating and the people singing and shouting, but we truly hoped that it would not last past midnight. I managed to fall asleep for a few hours until the drum beating increased in intensity; it did not end until 6 a.m. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for Wes and I. Somehow Elizabeth managed to sleep through it all.














After breakfast, we took down the tents, packed up and prepared to go to church. Elia put on her best blue skirt and a red hooded fleece sweatshirt. She looked like a little Eskimo all bundled up to go out into the snow; the temperature was at least in the 80s when we left for church.








After a morning of worshipping together in the little Baptist Church of Mujika, we took Elia back to her village. Although her granddaughters were still with her, we knew they would also be leaving soon. Our hearts felt sad to say good-bye, and she wanted to know why we had to rush off. I made a commitment right then that I would lift Elia up in prayer everyday. I can’t imagine how lonely she gets. I can’t imagine what it is like day in and day out to be alone. I’m just thankful she knows Jesus, who promises to never leave her or forsake her.






Thursday, September 30, 2010

My African Grandmother, Part II

Wes, Elizabeth and I arrived in Elia’s village about 10:00 a.m. on Friday morning. We were greeted by Elia in her usual way, with a dance and a big smile. We were surprised to see several others in the village, and wondered if they had heard the white people were coming. However, this time this was not the case. Two of Elia’s granddaughters and a great grandson, had arrived from Livingstone to see how she was doing after having been in the clinic for a foot injury.


I’m pretty hard-headed sometimes, and it takes me a while to see God’s purposes, so at first I was annoyed. I saw the visitors as interruptions to my plan; how would I do my interview with so many others around? And in addition to that, I had promised to bring food and cook for Elia, and now I had to cook for three others. Wes tried to encourage me not to worry; that the food would be enough, and that God had a plan. I whispered a prayer asking the Lord to forgive me for my attitude and to help me see His purposes.

Wes helped us set up the tent and cooking area. He left the trailer for me so that I would have a place to cook and store my things, and then he was gone. By this time it was noon and my stomach was shouting, “Feed me!” I had brought a gas camping stove because I figured that Elia would not have enough wood for all the cooking I planned to do. Elia was so amazed as she watched me preparing the meal. She was amazed at how fast I was able to cook on my little stove, and she was amazed that a white woman cooked for herself; she thought all white women had servants who did their cooking.

Elia’s granddaughters prepared nshima, the staple food of Zambians made from corn meal, and some rape (a green leafy vegetable) and I prepared potatoes and sausage. Together there was more than plenty, and as I watched Elia eating, I could see the joy in every bite she took. In fact, she couldn’t eat it all.

After lunch, the girls went to the nearby borehole (well) to draw water for doing dishes. I was beginning to see God’s blessings in bringing these young ladies to the village. This freed Elizabeth and I up to begin our interview with Elia.

As we sat under a shade tree, Elia sitting in one of our camping chairs feeling like a queen, Elia began to share the story of her life. Of course I had to prompt her with questions, because she really didn’t know where to begin.

For the next several hours we sat together under the tree, keeping cool with the wind God had provided, listening to Elia tell us tales from the past; these which I will relate at a later time. I had hoped Elia’s granddaughters would sit and listen, but they were not too interested, sad to say.

When we saw that the sun was turning a bright orange, we knew it was time to stop and prepare supper. Elia said that she was usually in the house for the night by this time, as she usually went in with the chickens. Yes, she keeps the chickens in her house; I think they are her companions.

As the girls heated water in the cooking hut for bathing, Elizabeth and I prepared supper on the gas stove; rice and beef stew. By the time the meal was prepared, the sun had set and we ate our supper while watching the stars come out one by one. If you have never seen an African sky at night, you are truly missing something. There are no neon lights of the city to detract from the beauty of the stars.

The girls and Elia had already bathed before supper, and so now Elizabeth and I took our splash baths in the grass enclosure that the church had prepared for us. I asked Elia where she normally bathed, and she said that she used to bathe at the river when there was water, but now she just went off into the bush to bathe. The church had also made us an “outhouse” or “cimbuzi,” for which I was very grateful!

Elia wanted to stay up and visit, but my eyes were drooping. I usually go to bed by about 9 p.m. myself, so I was ready to climb onto my comfortable cot and call it a night. September is usually a very hot month, but the Lord provided us a nice cool breeze during the day and cooler temperatures than normal at night.

It had been a good first day, and I wondered what tomorrow would hold. As I lay down I thought to myself, “I might consider staying longer than two days,” but that thought would change by the next night. Stay tuned for more.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

My African Grandma, Part I

Her name is Elia Masowe, and she is 92 years old. We have adopted her as our “African Grandmother,” although she considers us her children. She says that Wes is her first-born son, so I guess that makes me her daughter-in-law. She has also referred to Wes as her husband, so I’m not sure what that makes me! Relationships in Zambia are very confusing, so to make it simple, we have chosen the relationship of grandchildren and grandmother.


We first met Elia back in 1999 when we came to her village to do a feeding program. It was a year of drought, and we were told that the people of Mujika were hungry, and so the small church we were attending decided to help out.

Elia was in the group of people that arrived that day to receive food. Little did she know that she was also going to be fed spiritually. Wes, and those with him, passed out packages of mealie meal (corn meal) and some basic supplies that Zambians use in cooking. When they were finished, they shared the good news of Jesus Christ.

When Elia heard that Jesus had died for her sins and wanted to give her a new life, she made the choice to invite Jesus to be her Lord and Savior. It was not the first time she had heard about Jesus as she had grown up in church, but it was the first time she understood her need for a personal relationship with Him. On that day, she made the choice to give Jesus her life.

Later, Elia related her testimony in this way, “God loves me so much, that he sent people half way around the world to come and tell me the truth about Jesus. I used to be the best at brewing beer, but now I have stopped.”

As a result of the outreach in Mujika, a little Baptist Church began. Elia was one of the first members, and when she can, she still attends.

In those first years, Wes and I went on a regular basis to teach the new believers at Mujika. At first we met under a tree. Elia was always faithful in attendance, and although she could not read due to poor eyesight, she listened well and was quick to answer questions. We were amazed at how she was growing in her new walk with the Lord, and we were encouraged by her energy and vitality for life at such an old age.

From the beginning Elia loved to share her new faith, although she was a little rough around the edges. She had been attending a Seventh Day Adventist Church, and when she accepted Christ and moved to the Baptist Church, the elders came to visit her telling her she was going to hell because she was worshipping on Sunday. She was quick to tell them where they could go because she now knew the truth. We had to talk to Elia about her method of evangelism, but at least she was not backing down!

We grew to love Elia more and more as we spent time with her. She made us smile, she made us laugh, and she made us cry to see her living all by herself. I don’t remember the first time we went to her village, but to see how she lived broke our heart. She had one little hut in which she slept, with a roof that looked like it was going to cave in at any moment.

Even though she was in her 80s at the time, she planted, weeded, and harvested her own maize. It was hard for us to imagine how she did all this by herself, but we were told that she had little help. Although a married niece lives right next door, she does very little to help her.

Elia has always been a giver. Whenever we go to her village she insists on giving us a gift. Over the years she has given us sweet potatoes, pumpkins, maize, and chickens. Although it has been very hard to accept her gifts, knowing she has very little, we’ve learned to them because we know that by giving, she also receives.

Knowing God’s command to take care of widows and orphans, God began giving us a burden to help Elia even more. At first we worried about the potential problems it would create with jealousy--a big problem in Zambia. We didn't want our helping her to hurt our ministry, but we decided we had to obey what we felt the Spirit was leading us to do. So, little by little, or bit by bit as they say in Zambia, we became more a part of Elia’s life. At first we just brought her small gifts of sugar, tea, and mealie meal, but eventually we saw a greater need—she needed a new home. Her roof would not last through one more rainy season, and the walls of her mud hut were crumbling.

We wanted the church to be involved in helping her as much as possible, so we got the leader and some of the people involved in helping build her a new home. This time it was not a round hut, but a small rectangular house with two rooms. For Elia, it was a mansion.

Elia will most likely live the remainder of her years, alone in this house. Although it is a much better home than the one she previously had, Elia has often said, “I’m ready for my new home. I look forward to seeing my Jesus.”

In the past few years, Elia has been in and out of the hospital. She easily catches cold, and has a persistent cough. When malaria attacks, she goes down hard. Each time she is sick, the pastor of the Mujika church calls to let us know. Each time when we visit her, we wonder if it will be the last time we see her, yet this little woman is stubbornly holding on to life.

Recently I decided I wanted to write down Elia’s life story. Although we have visited her many times, there was so much I didn’t know about this tiny little woman who dances every time we come into her village. I asked her if she would allow me to spend a few days in her village, and if she would tell me her story. This past week I spend two and a half days with Elia. I asked her many questions, and although I feel I will need to go back again, I’m beginning to put together some of the pieces of her life.

In the next few weeks, I will be writing down what I have learned. Eventually, if I am able to put it all together, I hope to put her story into a small book. I don’t claim to be a writer, so I doubt if it will be a best-seller, but that is not my goal. Elia's life is a puzzle to me, and I want to put together some of the pieces. I hope you will enjoy learning about my African Grandma.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Our African Grandmother

Last week Wes and I went to the village of Mujika to visit our African Grandmother. She is 92 years old, but full of life and love. Elia accepted Christ as her Savior in our early years in Zambia, about 10 years ago. We fell in love with her, and she adopted us as her grandchildren. Although she has children, they are far away and do not take good care of her, so we have tried to watch over her as much as possible.


We called ahead to the pastor of the Mujika Baptist Church and asked him to meet us at her village. We had some things to discuss with him, and wanted to visit her as well.


As we came into the village, Elia began dancing with excitement. Although her dances are becoming slower these days, she never fails to greet us in this way. Elia was dressed up in her best shirt and wrap around skirt (chitenge) with a nice clean head scarf. She looked smart, as they say in Zambia!


As usual, Elia wanted to know where we had been. "I could have died and you would never have known," are the words we usually hear from her when we visit. She was right; it had been awhile since our last visit, due to a busy schedule and heavy rains. We apologized and tired to explain that we had tried to visit two other times in March, but both times the rains were too heavy and the road too muddy. She was very forgiving.


We sat down in front of her small home, on small stools that she brought us, and had a very nice visit. We talked about her maize crop that is about ready to harvest. At 92 Elia still does most of her own planting, weeding, and harvesting. We talked about her health, and she complained that she coughs a lot at night. She was hoping we had brought her some cough medicine. We asked her if she was still fishing in the nearby river, and she said that she was, although not as much. We talked about her age, and how God had given her many years so that she could continue to tell people about His love.


We asked her if we could take a photo together, knowing that each time we visit could be the last time we see her. Whenever we take her picture, we tell her to smile. Instead of smiling, she laughs. It is so cute!


As we began to take photos, the children from the villages gathered round. She invited them to join her. I imagine she is grandmother to many village children.

As we were about to leave, a thought came to my mind--I would love to know more of her story. I would love to write a book about Elia's life. So, I asked her if she would share with me if I would come to the village and spend some time with her. She agreed to do so.


I'm making plans to spend a few days in her village with Elia and a young lady, Elizabeth, who is our African daughter. We haven't set the exact date yet, but hope to do it soon. It is going to be a real adventure as she has no toilet or bathing facility, but Wes says he can try to rig something up for us to use.

I'm excited, but nervous because Elia is so full of energy, that although she is 40 years older than me, I'm just not sure I will have the energy to keep up her!






Monday, March 15, 2010

Love Isn't Love Till You Give it Away

Yesterday at church I wondered why I was there. I was not able to listen to a thing, and I wanted to pull my hair out.  Let me explain.

When we arrived at church (which meets in a school room), I noticed the desks had been turned around.  This was good because now the outside door would be at the back. Wes and I usually sit at the first desk near the door, and we are constantly distracted by the movement of children going in and out during the service. Zambian children are adorable, but they are not always taught to sit and be quiet in church.  It is not uncommon for them to run down the aisles, go to the front and stand with whoever is singing a special, bounce balls, throw paper airplanes, and whatever else they can find to do that is distracting. Most of the adults just let it all happen, although we can tell they too are distracted, but the Zambian philosophy of child rearing is, "Let kids be kids."

When I saw that the desks (made for two adults) were turned around, I decided to sit in my usual spot by the door. We usually have three or four of the noisiest little children wanting to sit with us, so I figured that since our seat was now at the back, perhaps others would not be so distracted by these little ones. Wes chose to sit up front since he was speaking.

First Machila, Jullien and Choopa arrived.  They are all five or under.  They all wanted to sit with me, but finally just Machila and Choopa sat down.  I gave them each a piece of paper and a pen to write with and they were happy. 

Church started and things were going fairly well, until "she" arrived.  I didn't realize that "she" was there until I felt someone pulling on my arm, "Laurie, I want to write." There was really no room on the bench and I was very hot, so I gave her a piece of paper and a pen and asked her to go and sit at a desk opposite of us. The look on her face told me that this was not going to work, so I squeezed her in as well.  By the way, "she" has a name--Purity. She is the cutest, but most stubborn little girl I have ever met.  She makes me laugh and scream at the same time.

Jullien joined us and now I had four little ones and no idea what was happening in the church service. Suddenly Machila and Purity got up and went outside. I followed them to see what mischief they might be up to.  They said they wanted to get a drink at the water pump. I told them to return quickly.

When the time came for the children to go to their class, I saw the two girls running back from the pump.  They came into the church dripping wet.  I think they had more than just a drink of water. I told them that the children had gone to their class; I decided I'd better escort them.  Machila had a fit, and Purity followed her example.  HELP! I went to retrieve Machila's mother who came and took over with her daughter. I gave Purity a little pat on the bum and told her to stop throwing a fit. She wrapped her arms around my neck and melted my heart.

I entered the children's class with Purity hoping she would sit and listen, but it was not going to happen. I saw that the teacher, who was new, was not doing well with the little ones.  They were climbing on desks, yelling and screaming, and she was trying to tell a story.  I took the three littlest ones, Purity, Choopa and Jullien and went on a discovery walk. We talked about who had made the trees, the rocks, and anything else we could find. I told them the story of Zacchaeus and we had a good time.

Time passed and I thought things might be winding up, so we headed back to the church. I decided, now that they were calm, that I would take them back to class.  I dropped them off and went back into the church. Wes was concluding his sermon, and challenging the people to put into practice what they had learned. I don't know if anyone could even concentrate because next door the children were screaming. I got up and went next door to see what was happening. The teacher had pretty much given up and was letting the children run wild. I told them all to sit down and we had a talk about why we were in church. I stayed with them the rest of the time and we played follow the leader acting quietly like animals.

I was glad to hear the final singing from the adults, and we made our way to the reception line. When we arrived home, I told Wes I felt like I'd been through the washer. While I was preparing lunch, a song came to my mind that the women had sung a few weeks earlier. I began singing, "Love isn't love till you give it away."  It was then I realized that all these little ones needed was love, and that giving it away can sometimes be exhausting!

A Golden Opportunity

We went to Livingstone about four hours from our home to be part of an induction service.  What is an induction service?  We were wondering the same thing when we were asked to be a part. We learned that it is a special service where a church welcomes their new pastor and introduces him to the community. It is a time when the pastor is challenged by others to fulfill his calling.

Wes had been asked to share a brief welcome and challenge to Pastor Golden Kyungupengu on behalf of the Baptist Mission. He had mixed feelings about being a part of this service.  On one hand, he was excited to welcome Pastor Golden, a young man we had met when he was a youth, who definitely is called by God.  In fact, he is a real answer to pray for the southern province of Zambia where we minister. But, on the other hand, Wes doesn't like to speak to large crowds, and hates to dress up in formal attire--why do you think he loves the bush!

Pastor Golden gave us instructions on Friday that we were supposed to arrive on Saturday morning by 8:30 a.m. to greet the minister who was scheduled to arrive at 9:00.  He was not talking about a guest pastor, but a government official who would be the guest of honor for this event. A minister is equivalent to an American senator.

We arrived on time and were ushered in to a small room with other pastors who also had a part in the program.  The minister did not arrive on time. This is not unusual here in Zambia.  Government officials are expected to make people wait.  Just before 10:00 we were told that the minister was on his way and we should form reception line outside. He arrived soon after with his aide, and after greeting him, we went back into the small room where the pastors chatted with him briefly.

Finally, we made our way to the stage behind the minister and took our seats.  We would sit here for the next three hours in temperatures that must have reached 110 degrees. I looked over at Wes who was thoroughly miserable in his suit and tie and whispered, "Try not to look so miserable." I felt sorry for him.

The service began with the Zambian national anthem, and I noticed we were being watched as we tried to remember the words.  I'm sure those watching us could tell that we were faking some of the words (but not all).

There were some really good choirs, and then the speeches began.  Each speaker greeted the minister by name and another government offical who was somewhere in the audience, as well as pastors, etc. etc. I could tell that Wes was getting nervous wondering if he would be the only one to break protocol if he did not greet everyone by name and give their "official" title.

Thankfully, not long before Wes was to speak, the minister called the master of ceremonies over and asked him to please tell the speakers that they could dispense with the protocol that normally is used for greeting.  I saw relief wash over Wes' face. 

When Wes got up to speak, I said a little prayer for him.  He welcomed Pastor Golden and his wife to the southern province, and was presenting a short challenge to him, when suddenly there was a loud crash. Two men had fallen from their chairs in the front row, when one chair broke and fell into the other. Poor Wes, no one listened much after that, but he retained his composure--I was proud of him!

The service finally ended and Wes was able to take off his coat and tie and breathe a sigh of relief. After presenting our gift to the pastor and his wife, we said good-bye and headed for home. The first 40 kilometers was rough, as the road is being repaired, and we had to take a detour on a dirt road for a good distance.  The dust was so thick at times that we literally could not see what was in front of us.  Even Wes admitted it was a very dangerous situation. We thank the Lord that He led us and that we made it home safely. 

Although the day was hot, and we were exhausted, it was another "golden opportunity" to be involved in Zambian culture and share our lives with the people.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

A Sad Week

It has truly been a week of sadness. On Tuesday we went to the funeral in our village, and on Wednesday we received sad news from home. We got a call from my father telling us that my Uncle Menno had passed away. I knew he had been sick, but I really wasn't expecting this news on this day. Why? Because last week we had learned that another uncle had been diagnosed with leukemia and didn't have long to live.

While we were still processing my Uncle Menno's death, the phone rang again. I asked Wes to get it, because I knew in my heart that my Uncle Don had also passed away.

I'm still in shock as I think about the fact that in one day, two of my uncles went to be with the Lord. The good news is that they both had their house in order. If you haven't read my previous post, you need to do so. The sad thing is that they will be missed by so many.

I think of my Aunt Vi who lost both her husband Don and her brother Menno in one day. I can't even imagine her sadness. She's my very special aunt who prays for us all the time, makes us homemade jam to bring back to Zambia, and always makes sure we come for dinner when we are home. Now it is our turn to pray for her.

Although we are so far removed from our families, I remember both of my uncles with fondness. My Uncle Menno owned a small country grocery store when we were kids. He spoiled us with goodies from the store every time we came to visit. He was a big man, with a big heart. My Uncle Don was a quiet and gentle man. I never heard him raise his voice or say an unkind word about anyone. I doubt if anyone could ever say that about me.

Wes and I are reading a book together called, "A Life God Rewards" by Bruce Wilkinson. Have you ever thought about the fact that this life is like a little dot on a page, and eternity is a line that goes on and on forever? Wilkinson says, "Jesus' teaching shows us that what happens inside the dot determines everything that happens on the line." Most of our life happens after our physical death. This is a sobering thought for us who are still living.

Well, two great men are gone, two families are grieving, but in heaven, two men are rejoicing with their Savior and just beginning their life on the line.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Get Your House in Order

The sad news came to us that the headmistress (principal) of the main school in our village, had suddenly lost her husband when he did not recover after an asthma attack.


We went to the funeral in our village where hundreds of people had gathered to honor the life of a man who had touched their lives. We learned at the funeral, that he himself had been the head master before his wife, many years back. Both he and his wife had invested in many lives in the community, especially through the avenue of education.


The funeral message was good, but it fell short of the truth. The young pastor talked about how Hezekiah of the Old Testament was told he was going to die, and to get his house in order. The point of the message was, "Get your house in order because you do not know when you are going to die." Sadly, the message focused on works. To get your house in order, the pastor implied that you must make sure you are doing enough good works to ensure you are righteous enough to enter into the Kingdom of God.


I wanted so much to stand up and say, "Yes, faith without works is dead, but it is by grace that we are saved through faith." The Bible plainly tells us that we are not saved by our works (Ephesians 2:8-9). Salvation is a gift of God to all those who confess Him as Lord and believe on His name. (Romans 10:9-10). If we try to work our way to heaven, we will always fall short. (Romans 3:23). We can NEVER do enough good works to deserve God's favor. To get our house in order, we must first put our lives into the hands of the only one who was ever without sin (Jesus). He died that we might have life. We are put right with God (justified), not by our good works which are like filthy rags to Him (Isaiah 64:6) but by faith in His Son Jesus (Romans 5:1).


The message was good, but the most important thing was left out. To get one's house in order, one must first enter into a relationship with God through believing in His Son Jesus. We have all been created by God, but not all have a relationship with Him. John 1:12 tells us that, "Yet to all who received Him (Jesus), to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God." It is not the ones that have done enough good works that are children of God, but those who believe in Jesus-- that He died for their sin, rose again (proving that He is God) and are willing to confess Him as their Lord (the master of their life).


Death is always an opportunity for the living to look at their lives. Is your house in order? Have you entered into a relationship with God through His Son Jesus? If you have not, read Romans 10:9-10 and 13. You can also email us at wilcox@zamnet.zm and we can share more with you. If you are already a child of God, are you living the godly life that you have been called to live? Perhaps you need to get your house in order in other ways, by living the life God intended for you.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

A Time for Everything

Last August a pastor friend from America, who visited us in Zambia, told us we needed margin. He saw that we were tired, working too hard, and needed some down time. When he returned to the states he sent us a book titled, "Margin." We got the message.


Well, there is a time for everything, and coming home to America has provided us with that much needed margin. We've had a great time being with family, and thoroughly enjoyed the cold and the snow. I know, we are crazy, but you would understand if you lived in Africa.



It has been a great holiday, although we really didn't do much. I guess that is what made it so great--we actually relaxed. We slept in if we wanted to, stayed in our pajamas til noon sometimes, watched football and almost every Hallmark Christmas story there was, caught up on the news, played games, and just hung out with family. We shopped, but not as much as we usually do, and we only ate out a few times--imagine that! Don't worry, we had plenty of good food--mom's fudge and cookies, turkey and dressing, and bagels with cream cheese nearly every morning.



Well, there is a time for every thing, and now it is time for us to return to Zambia. We are excited about what the new year holds. We look forward to getting back and seeing our friends and family in Zambia. We look forward to getting back to work and seeing more of what great things God will do this year. We feel rested. We have had enough margin for awhile. May God give each of you a blessed New Year!