Some days blogging seems like a chore. I know so many people are waiting to see what is happening at New Day, so at a birthday party I am preoccupied with getting the best shots and getting home to blog it.
But today, blogging is not a chore. Today my fingers were burning to get to the computer to pour out what is on my heart. This is me. This is real.
We hear from team after team how amazing our lives are - how lucky we are to get to live here and experience this life full-time. I agree - we are blessed. But life is not always campfires and amazing sunsets and hugs from orphans. Sometimes life in Zambia is stress (ok, most of the time!), and sometimes we lose it. Sometimes I lose it.
Yesterday we did our weekly grocery trip to Choma. Spar can be a stressful place for me. Baskets are small, aisles are small, and people stare at and ridicule me for the amount of groceries I buy, not realizing I am shopping for an orphanage. It is a challenge to keep a smile on my face and be gracious amidst the loud rap music blaring and the pushing and shoving in the checkout lines. When we get outside with our groceries, several men run up to us with bags of fruit, asking to help with our groceries for a small tip. I try to navigate the cart down the steep ramp without losing control and running it into the street and as politely as possible explain that I don't eat "narjies."
We do need help loading all of the groceries, however, so we use several of these guys to help us. We used to use one such guy, I'll call him Patrick, often. But after Patrick repeatedly harassed me, even following me through the store, was obviously drunk as he tried to load our groceries, would not take no for an answer, and took a VERY large tip from Ms. Carolyn when she unknowingly gave him the wrong bill, I told him as politely as possible that we would not be using him again - not to even ask us.
Patrick, however, doesn't take no for an answer. He still comes every week to ask if he can help, and I always tell him no. He recently discovered, however, that Blu doesn't really know the guys' faces, and if he can catch Blu before I get outside with the groceries, Blu will let him help load. This happened for 2 weeks, and yesterday, when I came out of Spar and saw Patrick helping Blu, I lost it. I told Blu in a loud voice that I did not like this man, he is a drunk, and from now on he needs to choose someone else to help. Patrick turned and walked away. Blu looked at me open-mouthed, and over the course of the next few hours, God convicted me.
I woke up this morning, broken, with Patrick on my mind. Did he understand my fast English? Did I hurt his feelings? Does he have a family? Is his name even Patrick? For the last 3 years I have had interactions with him but I don't even know his name. I have never shared Christ's love with him. Yesterday, while wearing my "Jesu Ulamuyanda" (Jesus Loves You) shirt, I certainly did not show ANY love towards him. I began to think about our New Day kids, who I easily love. If Misheck hadn't been placed at New Day, would he be outside of Spar ten years from now trying to make money by loading groceries? I am ashamed.
I can't wait to get back to Choma and talk to Patrick. I want to apologize. I want to buy him a meal. I want to ask him if he knows Jesus. I want to give him a Bible. Not to assuage my conscience - but because somewhere along the way, nobody reached out to him. Nobody taught him better. Nobody gave him a chance.
This is life in Zambia. Not a group of perfect Christians who are happy martrys for Jesus. Just real people. Just me. Loving people and not loving people. Ministering and messing up. Loving Zambia and experiencing culture shock. Doing the best we can.
1 John 4:20 - If anyone says, "I love God," yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For the person who does not love his brother he has seen cannot love the God he has not seen."
