World Racers can have an unfortunate habit of looking forward to the African portion of their trip: that’s when it’ll be rough, we tell ourselves. That’s when we’ll have bucket showers. That’s when we’ll see the big bugs. That’s when our phones will die. That’s when we’ll be homesick. That’s when it’ll get really hard.
Well, I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t see big bugs or have bucket showers or dead phones. But if that’s all you can think of when you think of Africa, you are missing out! I didn’t know what to expect before coming here at all. I knew I was supposed to be leery of inconveniences and dust. But I won’t remember being uncomfortable here. Not at all.
I’m sad to leave Zambia so soon: this Wednesday we leave Lusaka to go to Livingstone for a debrief, and on Sunday or so we’ll head to Malawi!
This is also my last week to raise $1037. After that money is raised, I will be fully funded for the rest of the Race! I’ll keep repeating myself: Thank you, everyone who’s donated! Your support means so much to me.
And those of you who are considering donating, whether you know me or not, or have given or not… would you please come alongside me by supporting my World Race? All the money raised goes toward my lodging, travel, and fancy $5-a-day food budget! It’s been an amazing six months of seeing God work, of learning, of sharing, of living… will you help me make it the rest of the way by clicking the “Support Me” link at the top of this screen. We’re so close!!
Because your support made this crazy, crazy month possible.
It was the month I met Africa from the bed of a pickup truck.
The month of dumbfounding hospitality.
The month I preached sermons, sometimes with a few minutes to prepare.
The month of different stars.
The month we were invited into dozens and dozens of strangers’ houses to eat or drink tea.
The month we were constantly asked, “Have you eaten n’shima yet?”
The month we watched Brave with our host family and I forgot we were in Zambia until the generator shut off for the night.
The month of BRIGHT COLORS.
The month I attended a Pentecostal church for the first time.
The month of embracing different worship styles: some of us yell and some of us are silent, and it’s all beautiful.
The month our host family bought us new mattresses so we wouldn’t keep sleeping on the floor.
The month I learned to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
The month I was told, “If you can’t dance in God’s house, where can you dance?”
The month it wasn’t hot, like you’d expect, but rather the beginning of winter (which is like a Washington summer with less rain).
The month I couldn’t call home once.
The month it was a compliment to be called fat (“Wow, you’re so fat!” “Aw, thank you!”).
The month of the question, “Is that your real hair or a wig?”
The month we were stared at everywhere we went.
The month I shook a thousand hands.
The month my glamorous white fake Ray Bans (Roy Boys) were chewed up by our ministry host’s son and sat on by… me.
The month we watched The Lion King and realized we’re basically living where it is set.
The month I was a door to door evangelist.
The month I was accumulated a library of pamphlets from Jehovah’s Witnesses.
The month of the loud, colorful, long, catered, booty-shaking baby shower.
The month a lady at that baby shower told me: “I like you hair clip. Give it to me.” And I did.
The month they played Christmas music in a internet cafe all day.
The month of roaches, earwigs, and powerful stomping.
The month they made me dance in church.
The month of astounding harmonies.
The month my hair doubled in volume from the dust flying around everywhere.
The month I needed to raise the rest of my $15,500.
The month we were cleaning ladies at hospitals.
The month we didn’t have to do our own laundry or dishes.
The month we got to live with a family.
The month we got to live in an English-speaking country.
The month we needed to learn words in Nyanja and Bemba to get by in this English-speaking country.
The month I learned this English-speaking country actually speaks 72 languages.
The month we saw God work between cultures.
The month we were blessed by everyone we met.
The month of fantastic, challenging, life-giving conversations about what it means to be a missionary, disciple, Racer.
The month least like home.
The month of homesickness.
The month of being at home despite all that.
