April

And the highlight of this month is always camp.

Loloma Junior Girls Camp at Kabompo River Bible Conference Centre.

Happens over the Easter weekend for about five days, up to 160 girls come from all over the Kabompo / Manyinga District, our goal is to share the Gospel- the Good News of Jesus Christ and of salvation from sin, and also to help teach them important topics about growing up. 

Most of the camp is sitting listening to speakers, but there are also several discussion groups/ quiet time and those times are such a great opportunity to get to know the girls and hear some of their struggles, hopefully answer some of their questions- whether about the Bible, about salvation and following Jesus Christ, or about STI's and other sexual health topics, or about life and the impact they are women can have on the people around them. Its a great opportunity to build relationships and to share Christ.

I had the privilege of working this camp alongside a camper I had the very first time I went to the Loloma camp. It was quite an opportunity to see this sweet (slightly precocious) girl share her faith with the younger girls we were sitting in with, and talk to them about life and what was important. It was really cool to see how the camps had touched her life and helped cause her to grow into a strong young christian woman.

One of my girls from Chito also came along with me and it was great to see her bonding with other young women who share her faith. And hopefully, these three young women will be in Kalene nurse school together this coming August- we are praying! What a great gift from God it will be of the three of them to study together and help keep each other in the way of God. Its not easy leaving the place where one has been most spiritually nourished. I am praying these three girls will be able to study together and encourage each other to keep the faith.

The highlight for me at camp tho is always the first day. Everyone is so excited, setting up the camp site, getting the tents ready and the cabins, registering the girls, everyone is busy with something. But as each truckload comes onto the site and counsellors pile out, the excitement grows. Shouts across the site. A flurry of yitengi when someone runs. Greetings. Warm hugs. Exclamations. "I have missed you." "how have you been?" "How is home?" "Its so good to see you." Excitement and laughter and joy and rejoicing!

Its hard to explain it all. But I kind of imagine that its a bit like heaven will be, when we all finally arrive there. All the dear ones who love the Lord who have gone on before will be waiting there, working their work, but waiting, waiting to greet the new arrivals, waiting to give warm hugs, to bring out that old joke, or the pet name, waiting to hear all the things that have happened, waiting to share what's happened with them. And there will be so much excitement and laughter and joy and rejoicing. Seeing friends after so long a time not seeing them.

The best part of heaven tho, will be the Lord will be there. At camp we know His presence is there with us, His Spirit that lives inside each of His children. But in Heaven He will actually be with us in body. What a day of rejoicing that will be!

Camp has always seemed like such a privilege to be a part of. And this little thought of how it might mirror that first day in heaven just makes it all the dearer.

Anyway, I'm back now to Chito. Big changes are in store here. Will get to those one day soon!

Katombi Chronicles

And I'm back!

The last three weeks were spent with a friend on her village about 4 hrs from my home in Chito. This village (Katombi) is just about my favourite place here in Zambia.

I went for language studies, as has been the focus of these trips in the past. There is a lovely couple here that I spend a couple hours 3-4 times a week just sitting and chatting. WOW! It still amazes me that we can find enough to talk about in my very broken Lunda to be able to chat for nearly two hrs!

There is a wee satellite clinic that my friend runs and while I was visiting this time she allowed me to see her patients every morning. Great langue opportunities! And again, I just amazed myself with how much of the language I actually do know- and not just Lunda, I can kinda make out some Luvale also; kinda helpful since nearly every one up here seems to know Luvale better than Lunda!


Its also a slower pace, which is a nice break from hospital! And a slightly different focus: more Gospel outreach and less medical work.

We had so much rain the few weeks I was there that we were basically flooded in for just over a week. So thankful there were no medical emergencies to rush to hospital!

We had several adventures with driving because the forest road was so bad. Stuck in a log bridge one day in the rain over a seasonal stream. 8 men and several onlookers and an hour later we managed to get unstuck and be able to reserve the car to use an ox cart trail they had just been working one.

Another day, using a diversion that had been made especially for the motorcar, and the diff got stuck, and i mean STUCK on a stump that hadn't been cut down low enough. Let me tell you about this amazing lady I was staying with: she decided, well, I need the car to be raised up higher than the stump, lets put the jack under it, raise it up off the stump and drive off the jack. She had never seen or heard of this being done before, but gave it a go. When we finally arrived Loloma we found out that was a perfectly reasonably thing to do.


Many, many other adventures and little experiences that I wish I had written down for you day by day and really given you the 'chronicles'.
I'm back now at Chito. And glad to be back. Well... except for the ortho marathon tmrw and friday and the plastics marathon next week! The fun never stops

What are you writing while you are waiting?

Waiting

We spend probably most of our lives doing it.

Waiting for the light to change

for the microwave to ding

for school to finish

for that special someone

for the kids to grow up

for the golden years

at the doctors office

at Emerg

at the doorbell

in the grocery line, the bank line, the cinema line

But what are we writing while we are waiting?

I've had waiting on my mind since the start of the year. Whether it was because the year started off so slowly, and in fact is still very slow, or because I was waiting to go visit a dear friend on her village about 4hrs from here, or because my next trip home is less than a year away now, I'm not sure. But waiting and thinking about waiting sure has taken up a lot of my time so far this year.

Over and over again, this question comes to me:

What am I writing while I am waiting?

Waiting to finish the Ward Round

Waiting to speak to the Doctor

Waiting for the surgery to end

Waiting to go back to work the next day

Waiting for the meeting to start

Waiting for the meat to defrost

for the oven to heat up

for there to be hot water for a shower

for the patient to come

for there to be power to my house

waiting waiting waiting

But what am I writing? 

Is it a story of grace? Of patience? Of a quiet spirit? Of joy in the Lord?

Am I seeking moment by moment for His will? Accepting it with joy when it comes?

Or am I anxious and fearful? Am I wasting my time in frivolous pursuits? Am I cross and unkind and impatient?

Too often this is the story I am writing

You see, we are writing a story. The story called: The Adventure Called My Life.

Each day is a new page. Each year is a new chapter. Each season is a new part in this book. 

There is a lot in our story that we don't get to choose, but I think there is even more that we do get to choose.

What is my attitude to the events I don't get to control?  That's a big choice right there!

What is my focus in the in between times- the times in between life's big events? Building character and growing in virtue or seeking amusement and empty pastimes 

Am I using my time wisely? Productive use of my time, use that will bring God glory, use that will be interesting and useful at a later date - studying, trying new things, building relationships, seeking God

God has given us this life, this story to write. How are we going to write it?

For the love of Christ


Does that get used as a cuss term? It sounds like one I've heard before. It amazes me that people use the holy name of our God as a dirty, worthless curse. But that's not the point of this post...



I was reminded by an article this morning:

Why is it that 'many missionaries have spent their lives labouring in spreading the Good news without seeing much tangible fruit? ... Others experience great suffering- even premature death- in the cause of Christ. What can justify [this]? The motivation of [Hudson Taylor is given by Paul]: the love of Christ is the only sufficient cause of such sacrifices. As 2 Corinthians 5:14,15 says: For the love of Christ constrains us; because we thus judge that if one died for all, then were all dead: and that He died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves but unto Him which died for them, and rose again. ... This made Paul (and Hudson Taylor; and many other countless Christians) willing to sacrificially pour out his life in labour for God's people."


The love of Christ.

I'm not kidding myself, or trying to look good. I know I have not reached any where near the point of 'sacrificially pouring my life out'. That's hard. And it hurts! I'm not there ... yet....

But I can say... the mice in my pyjama drawer... the snake under my kitchen counter... the bowel obstructions at 2am... the interpersonal problems with living in the same vicinity of the same group of people for several years.... the cobwebs and ant hills that collect faster than I can clean them.... the multitude of people with a plethora of needs .... oh and did I mention the mice in my pyjama drawer!!!! All of these things pale in comparison with 'the love of Christ.'


If I could only tell Him as I know
my Redeemer who has brightened all my way
If I could only tell who precious is His presence
I am sure that you would make Him your today.


Because friends, this is the only thing that makes this life possible: love of Christ. And more than just love for Christ, the love that comes from Christ. I only love Him, because He first loved me, because He first sought me, searched for me, drew me to Himself. Because He was willing to sacrificially pour His life out - in the most beautiful picture of crazy love - in order to make a way to bring me back to Himself. Me, the sinner. Willful, prideful, disobedient, in a word: vile. He did it all for me.
And He didn't stop with just my salvation. He raised me up to sit in Heavenly places in Christ. My sin  stain is completely gone and He sees me in Christ - holy, perfect, new. When I sin, I need only ask forgiveness from a loving, tender Father. He daily loads me with blessings. He cares for me. He hears my supplication and receives my prayer. He is with me and will never leave me. He causes me to triumph.

Any wonder that I love Him so?

Weary, worn, hurting, broken, poured out, stripped of anything and everything the world sees as success and glory...

Brothers and Sisters in Christ, this is the motivation in our life. The reason we do what we do:

For the love of Christ

"What ever this day and this year holds, He has allowed it"


                 Reading back through old posts and came across that line. 2016 has been one of the craziest years I have had so far.

      February and March found me helping at Loloma MH as one of the missionaries there was sick and on her death bed. I stayed as long as I could, returning the end of March as the only permanent missionary nurse at Chitokoloki. She passed into the presence of her Lord in May

In May, another missionary also was called home. She had returned to Canada for furlough with her husband, was diagnosed with cancer and 6 months later was called Home. About the same time as our friend in Loloma

April, May and June found me focused almost entirely on hospital and managing things there along with our two doctors. And visiting nurse, Alison, wrapped up her two year stay the end of April. The end of June brought Kait and JR back to the hospital, along with visiting doctor Gayle Wallace.

June also brought a missionary from Chavuma MH to our hospital for a palliative procedure to help discomfort. The surgery went well, and the next day he seemed to be making a recovery. And then he crashed. And a couple hours later in theatre we watched him slip into the presence of His God and Father.

Shortly after that, our visiting doctor and one of our other missionaries had a head on collision on the motor bikes and both suffered from head injuries. Scary stuff! But we are so thankful that both have recovered and there seems to be no lasting effects.

August was camp, of course and also managed a trip out to Katombi. Was supposed to also include a village trip, but that was cancelled on the day I was travelling. So Mama Margie and I enjoyed a quiet few days in Kato instead of racing out for mtgs to the village.

The beginning of September brought another missionary to Chitokoloki. This one with a severe stroke. We cared for her for nearly two weeks before she too was called Home.

And in October, one of our staff members, having worked at the hospital for 16 years, was killed in a freak accident went a branch of a tree fell and smashed his skull. Unbelievable! And so terrible for the family; still with several small children. The saddest thing tho, there is no known confession of Christ as Saviour. Where is he spending his eternity?


And all this around our normal work routine, and marathons and regular expectations. No wonder I'm tired. But, like I said in that post from before is still true. He still gives more grace. It is still by His power that we have been able to keep working, keep serving, and even more difficult, keep joyful and rejoicing.

This year has started off a bit slower. The doctor has a problem with his feet and lower legs- he's not sure what, but as most doctors are, no one would know better than he. We are praying for him, for hims recovery. But we are also enjoying finishing work earlier, 14 to 16 instead of 18 to 20. We are grateful also that the usual stream of patients seems to have slowed just a bit to help us accomplish this. God is good.

Hopefully will be better this year with the updates. He still gives more grace.

To my Favourite

Today is your first day of Grade One.
I've been praying for you all day.

New school year
New classroom
New friends
New play ground for recess - You've graduated into the 'big kids' section of the school
And a new language- So proud of you for doing school in a second language. It will be good for you!



Today is the first day of term 3 for many kids here too! Although, the recognized first day was yesterday, many students didn't start until today.


The days leading up to the first day back to school aren't too different here than they are where you are. Gathering supplies: pens, pencils, notebooks, calculators, protractors, rubbers, etc. Getting uniforms sorted: shoes, trousers, shirts, sweaters- all in the school colours of light blue and black. You don't have a uniform but you know about getting new outfits for school. Some kids will be excited, others dreading. Some kids will have the supplies they need, others will not.

There aren't any shops around here tho. Certainly not any Wal-Marts touting 'back to school' sales on backpacks and pencils and pens and crayons and paper and notepads and miscellaneous supplies and clothes and recess treats and tupperware and toys and whatever other sales they might happen to have around this time. Instead, many kids just make do. Or they might find a couple notebooks up at the market. Some parents will go into Zambezi to get some of the supplies they need. And ALL of the kids know how to share. No matter how many kids use the same pen, they all know who it belongs to.

I've had a few visits myself this past week from some of my young school age friends asking for supplies and, thanks to a teacher friend from Toronto, I've been able to give freely.

I don't want to make it sound overboard here. The students here will mostly have all the supplies they need. I do want you to understand my dear, how different and yet how similar it is here. People are people wherever you go; all with the same needs and wants and desires and hopes and dreams. Don't ever forget that! We may look different and we may have different backgrounds and experiences and aspirations in life, but at the core of every human beats the same heart.



I thought of you this evening when three adorable boys showed up at my door with their 'father' ... in our culture he was an uncle, the younger brother to their father. Chilemu was 10, Luka 6, and the baby, Philip, was 2. They wanted to buy new clothes. Their currency: a live chicken.


I wanted to thank you for the clothes you let your mom send in the last container. A shirt and trousers of yours - even tho they said 4T, were a perfect fit for Luka. And shorts and a tee- shirt from your younger brother provided an outfit for wee Philip. I had two shirts from a container box, a bit big, but, as uncle pointed out, Chilemu is growing. I had to smile at that, how often has your mother picked out clothes for you and your brother on the assumption that you would 'grow into it.'

You sent a box full of matchbox trucks and cars. Well... maybe you didn't realize they were being sent... ??? This is one BIG difference that I can write about freely, without fearing that I am being judgmental or uninformed. Most kids here- the majority of kids here- do not have a 'toy' to play with. The average girl in this area where I am living have no dolls as we know them- they play with babies or make dolls from roots, or sugar cane stalks or corn husks. The average boy will have no motorcars unless, somehow he gets his hands on an empty and unclaimed jug and then he or an older brother or uncle or father will cut holes and use sticks for the axle, and rounded pieces of wood for the wheels and that will be his motorcar attached to a long stick that he can use to push this motorcar along as he walks.

The kids here are genius a 'using their imagination'. Sticks and stones make great toys. Plastic bags and rubber bands make footballs. Trees are for climbing- as high as one can go!

Very different from the plethora of dolls my sisters and I had growing up and the mountains of motorcars that you and your brother have!

Many days in hospital, children or parents will come asking for a kadolly or a motorcar, or 'chuma chahemesha': a thing to play with. Sometimes we are able to give. Sometimes we are not. For many different reasons...

But I wanted to thank you for sharing your toys. I wanted to remind you that God loves a cheerful giver. I wanted to tell you that the toys you shared are finding their ways to homes of little boys and girls who are thrilled to have them.

The wee boys at my door this evening were glad of the new clothes. But all three lit up when they saw the toy trucks. And on my part, its nice to be able to give something that is not necessary to doing life, but is a very real 'want' around here.



I hope you have had a great day at school. I hope the new language isn't too difficult. I hope you find your friends again and make new ones. I hope the toys in your class room and the arts and crafts projects are all fun. I hope today and every day you are reminded of the blessings God is pouring out on us. On you! He daily loads us with blessings! Even you, at your wee age He is loading with blessings! Thanks very much for sharing some of His blessings with us here!

love you lots!
Aunt Tia



ps... any ideas of what to do with this chicken locked in my porch????

Grace enough

The alarm rings snatching me from sleep. All I can think about is the haze of exhaustion that envelopes me. By the time the third alarm sounds 45 mins later I have wakened sufficiently to push back the covers, and stumble out of bed. Another broken night of calls up to the hospital stretches my reserve just a little bit thinner.

At the door I stop for a quick check- phone, keys, pen, notebook, water, granola bar. The alarm rings again. 705. My feet carry me up to hospital mindlessly.

My day starts in the kitchen: point of contact.

In proverbs of says of the ideal woman: the heart of her husband trusts her. Well, I think it can also read, the heart of her overseer safely trusts her.

That's Lucy. Lucy runs the hospital feeding program. Lucy is trustworthy. Together we sort out breakfast for the patients, relish for the noon nshima, what children are needing milk, who is coming for a daily egg, daily supplies to run the kitchen: oil, matches, charcoal, washing powder, washing soap... I know what I put out she will use for the patients. I know she will gather the moms of our malnourished kids around her and teach them what and when and how to feed their sick babies. I know because of her diligence we will see miracles.

And I remember why I am here. To be part of making a difference in lives here in rural Africa. 

After kitchen is ward rounds. As a team we go around to each patient in the hospital and  review their case and their current condition. Are we helping? Have we missed something? Some days it's long, some days I struggle to keep on task instead thinking and planning all the things I could and should be doing: language lessons, Bible study, visiting this one and that one, cleaning the termite hills that keep popping up around my house, even just washing the dishes...

But an interesting case story often brings me back to reality. 

You see this child: two months ago she was on her death bed. Stick thin and so weak with a swollen bloated abdomen. Barely able to draw a breath. Mom spoon fed her milk mixed with her medicine while we struggled to keep a functioning cannula dripping fluid into her tiny dried out veins. Today she wanders out of the kids' ward with her chubby little sisters to greet me in the corridor. Still stick thin, still huge belly. But, still alive. A huge smile rests on her face. I can't believe she is still here! And, after two months of being away, I can't believe she still remembers me!

You see this lady: because of a tumour her jaw extended to her chest. It was most pitiful to see her. Chitengi draped over her head, her arm lifted to use the chitengi as a shield to hide her deformed face and her shame. Kukata. It hurts. We started chemotherapy just before I left. Two months later, I've sat down to give her round number four of chemo. The face I smile into today is as beautiful as it was deformed nearly three months ago. I can't hardly remember what she looked like before I left. Now she is simply lovely!

You see this man: he died four months ago but he's still here today. He came to Chitokoloki a few months after I first did. 22 years old, he was in a road traffic accident and fractured his T12L4, effectively paralyzing him from the waist down. He's lived with us ever since. Surgery for an abscess in the abdomen nearly finished him off. When we reversed him after the procedure, he didn't wake up. We arranged shifts to watch him over night in theatre, keeping him on the ventilator to breathe for him. Twelve hours later we managed to extubate him and shortly after that he was awake enough to be chatting with his family

You see this baby: her mom died and her father's sister, nursing a five month old child of her own, took on the care and feeding of this fragile premature half orphaned child. How much excitement there was the day baby girl Gracious finally weighed in at 2.0 kg and auntie turned mummy could take her two babies home.

We are seeing miracles here. 

But you see this woman: through all of this she is being changed. I think this is the biggest miracle of all. Our Father, in his loving grace, reaches down not only to heal the sick but to change the heart. My heart. Your heart. 

This isn't about me. This is about Him. This is about His grace. This is about simply being a channel to let that grace flow to the hurting, the needy, the destitute, the outcast. In short: us. 

We need His grace. I need it as much as the patients whose broken bodies I tend. My body may be whole at this time, but my broken soul is in desperate and constant need of His forgiving grace. 

This is the greatest miracle of all: that my sin can be forgiven; my brokenness can be made whole; my selfishness and self centredness can be made unselfish and God centred. That God can be willing to use me to channel His grace to a hurting broken world.

It's evening now, the rain patters the tin roof, the thunder rumbles, sometimes crashes overhead. I am exhausted from the events of the day. The sick, the children and the grandparents, the needs and the requests, the constant interaction with people. I'm praying the phone doesn't ring tonight needing a team for an emergency surgery. But knowing if it does, or if I wake to the alarm tomorro morning: His grace, the same grace I'm learning to channel out to the people around, that grace is still the same and its still enough.

My grace is sufficient for you. My strength is made perfect in your weakness