Final Pictures

I can't believe I'm already back in the US.  Those two months flew! Now that I have faster Internet, I hope you enjoy these pictures. This is just a sample; if you're interested in seeing more, either contact me or check out my facebook albums. 

Two large murals in the orphanage: Jesus being born and Jesus being baptized. I painted Bible verses on each mural a few weeks after this photo was taken. Photo by Steve Stoll.

 Two large murals in the orphanage: Moses and the burning bush and Moses parting the Red Sea. I painted Bible verses on each mural a few weeks after this photo was taken. Photo by Steve Stoll.

One of three smaller murals in the house mom's rooms.  This one is of Daniel and the lion's den. 

Here's a cobra that attacked one of the locals.  Thankfully someone was there to throw a rock and kill it. The snake later had to be burned so that there wouldn't be a scent for it's partner to follow and come near the house. 

Bath time at the orphanage!

Olivia had already been at MOL for about 10 months.  Alexa stayed for a month.

 The walk up to the orphanage.  

 Otavia giving watercolors a try. 

 Ba Belita's first time using watercolors since she was in school.

 Olivia and I made a goal of waking up every morning at 6am to go for a walk before 7am devotionals. Aside from the locals thinking we were lunatics, we saw many beautiful sunrises and scenery.

 Several of the kids playing in the maize field. 

 To express my love for the house moms, I gave each a laminated pencil-drawn portrait.

 Each child also received a laminated portrait drawn with permanent marker and gray marker.

 Ba Belita cutting cabbage for dinner.  Tonga women do not use cutting boards, impressive!

Little Jeremiah (son of Jako and Amber) and I at Shoprite in Livingstone.  Yes, he is biting a wooden spoon.

 Having a little fun in the orphanage kitchen with the moms.

 Nchimunya was so funny!

 The goat we skinned and ate with our nshima...mmm

 Church

 The power in Kalomo sometimes decides to shut off.  In cases such as this, break out the candles!

Next time you complain about roads in the US...

Saying goodbye to Amber, Jako, Jakob, and Jeremiah.

Parting Words

Parting words 

Dear Zambia 

What to say for these last two months. For your smiles, dancing,  conversing and listening, slow and steady pace, selflessness, zest for life, and passion for Jesus. What to say. 

While the term 'mission trip' connotes that I come as the one with something to offer, I can say  that you have been the one teaching me, loving me, ministering to me.

You have taught me that life isn't about getting stuff done, it's about loving those around us. It's not about racing around, but steadily entering into each day with trusting calm.  

You have shown me what it means to serve, to selflessly attend to the needs of others, to not shrink back at the sight or smell of boogers, odors, urine, mud, spit, stains, or even illness, but to open your arms to every living soul with reckless abandon. 

You have ministered to my heart, my spirit, by showing me how to play. You've invited me to freely dance and sing and laugh and touch. You've slowed me down enough to see the beauty in the everyday, in the unpolluted giggles and innocent imaginations of children, in the simplicity of sitting quietly with you, in walking slowly and methodically, in an everyday greeting.  

Thank you.  I will walk away having learned more than I could have ever given to you. 

Bless you. 

Play

Yesterday as I walked to the orphanage, I came upon 5 of the kids sitting in the maize field.  When I came closer and sat down with them, I noticed they had various red plates, tiny empty plastic bottles, empty milk cartons, and a few knives. The oldest of the gang, Milliam, was carefully stirring a concoction of dirt, mud, and maize stalks as the rest watched. They were preparing nshima. This was a time of play. 

After they noticed my presence, they abandoned their nshima and tackled me down in the dirt with joyful squeals. After we emerged out of the powder, Emmanuel, Nchimunya, and Mainza fought to sit on my lap.  Genesis came from behind and hung from my neck, nearly choking me. 

We pretended that dirt clumps were chicken, cabbage, or soya and that battered containers still held milk.  

Nchimunya carefully shoveled grainy dirt into the teeny bottle with an old knife, and Mainza threw chunks of mud into the air.

Salomy's mud-splattered face giggled as she tried on my oversized shoes and Sanford made silly faces like I've never seen before as he threw my brown jacket high into the air. 

Genesis walked a few yards to the hole in the ground which housed a half dozen month-old puppies, and brought the smallest one back to play. She roughly carried it, either squeezing too tight, grasping it by the neck, or swinging it. When I had her put it down and showed her how to gently pet it, she tried to make it walk by forcefully pulling one leg in front of the other. 

Emmanuel buried his snotty, dusty face into my chest and Nchimunya was fascinated by my little shirt pocket. 

Mainza and Emmanuel clunked heads a few times as Genesis charged us at least twice, attempting to steal a spot on my lap. 

It was a time of play, a break from the everyday, a taste of freedom. 

Passions

I've held a passion for missions and other cultures since high school, a heart for the hurting since middle school, and have loved art even longer. Mid-way through college, I thought it'd be incredible to combine those passions by painting murals and doing art with hurting kids all over the world. At the time, I had no idea how this would work, and simply was not in a conducive life state to pursue this dream, so it fizzled for a time. I rather focused my energies on college classes, student teaching, and prepping for the education world-- but the dream didn't die. 

Fast forward. As I prepped for this trip to Zambia, I asked and agreed to paint murals and lead art activities. I prayed that through this experience, God would provide clarity into the future, giving me a glimpse at next steps in my life. A few days ago, that dream that was stored away found its way to the forefront of my mind. I remembered. 

And how it resonated. My heart was filled with joy as this passion was reignited and to see the beginnings of this dream take root in the here and now. 

And while I do not know when or where or how this passion will take shape going forward, I trust God will provide the right people and circumstances at the perfect time to make it come to pass. 

Art

Now that I've completely finished the 4 main orphanage murals and am just about done with the 3 murals in the house moms' rooms, I've started to shift my focus a bit.  Instead of the kids and moms mostly observing me do art (there were a few instances where I received assistance from the older kids and a mom), it's time to let them in on the creative process! 

Yesterday morning I brought a pack of extra thick crayons and white paper for the 2, 3, and 4 year olds to make drawings.

As I walked up to the property, the kids immediately knew something was different, as I came holding the above materials. They eagerly followed me to the back of the house, where a clean concrete floor allowed for us to sit and do art. I passed out one piece of computer paper and one crayon to each kid. For about 5 minutes, it was fairly peaceful; the kids sat and drew, and would come up to me every minute or so, enthusiastically showing me their crayon creations. 

But after those precious few minutes, things got a little out of hand.  Emmanuel started chewing on his brown crayon (maybe he thought it was chocolate?). Ruth crumpled up her yellow crayon inside her paper and hid it underneath her with a devilish look. Nchimunya misplaced his paper at least 3 times, each time assuming someone took it from him.  Genesis decided to scream and cry when she didn't get the color she wanted. Isaac decided his crayon worked better as a drumstick. Otavia thought it'd be fun to tease Salomy by stealing her paper away.  And the wind kept blowing Mainza's paper away. And during this whole time I was held captive as Milliam braided my hair tight enough to make me wince. 

But aside from this, or perhaps because of it, it was a life-giving experience for all involved. The kids got to use a medium they had very little or no experience with and got to practice creativity. 

Today I brought watercolor, brushes, white paper, and a water container to the orphanage. I figured I'd go for one-on-one painting sessions, given the more advanced nature of the medium and how the previous art time worked out. 

I started with a few of the older girls, Milliam and Otavia, who are about 10 years old. They enjoyed the process and caught on quickly. 

I hadn't even considered doing sessions with the moms, until I remembered that one mother, Ba Betty, lost her father the previous day and would be leaving for her home town for 8 days to mourn the loss. I found her behind the house hanging laundry. She didn't seem particularly excited to paint when I asked her, but after she began, her solemn spirit quickly turned to that of joy. She gained confidence as I encouraged her to think of objects to paint instead of me providing all the ideas.  The mood continued to rise as Milliam and Ba Ennie entered the room to watch. Ba Ennie was especially spirited as she helped direct Ba Betty what colors to paint a giant snake. There was lots of laughter. 

When Ba Betty finished, I asked Ba Ennie if she was ready for her session, she asked to wait so she would have time to figure out what to paint. An hour later, she brought in a children's bible book and asked for a pencil so to draw a picture of John the Baptist before painting. She took her time, carefully copying every detail outlined in the book. The finished painted product was excellent. 

Ba Balita painted a picture of a house with colorful flowers. What was neat was how she included inside information on the outside of the house-- a red bed and man eating oranges on a table. She said the last time she painted was as a child in school. She complained of shaky hands. 

I'm excited to continue these one-on-one sessions both with the kids and adults, and am humbled to bring a new experience for many to enjoy. I'm especially excited to minister through art to the orphanage moms, as they work and love so tirelessly 6 days a week. 

One thing's for sure-- despite speaking mostly Tonga, the kids definitely know what the word 'painting' means, as they follow me around, squealing, 'Painting! Painting!' 

Snapshots

Children's footprints in the sand.

Uninhibited stars with no city light to compete with. 

Simply enjoying each others company with no need for television, radio, or other forms of entertainment. 

Singing and dancing unabashedly. 

Pumpkin bread baked with coals underground. 

Hearing the 'whoosh ' of lighting the gas stove.  

Sitting around a fire with friends. 

Waking up at 5am, greeted by the Milky Way and shooting stars. 

Turning shower water brown from all the accumulated dust.  

Children running up to you, with arms outstretched, hoping to be held. 

Having a ten year old girl braid and tie my hair, wincing at each tug and pull but wanting to be as tough as the other little girls. 

Watching the toddlers create masterpieces with extra thick crayons and old computer paper. 

Having to remind the toddlers not to chew on their crayon. 

Going on walks at 6am, watching the sun ascend through the sky. 

Avoiding eye contact with a baboon, hoping I don't accidentally challenge it to a dual. 

Feeling the rain-like spray of Victoria falls as we cross the bridge overseeing the gorge below. 

Feeling the warmth of the sunset reflecting off the water as we drift down the Zambezi. 

Ripping off the covers and putting on a third layer to protect against the chill of the morning. 

Never knowing if 3 year old Jakob will speak to me in English, Tonga, or Afrikaans.  

Listening to Africaans music on the 4 hour drive to Livingstone. 

Feeling the stares as a 'makuwa' as we approached the local futbol game. 

Wiping off the booger and dust-covered faces of the little ones. 

Painting the mural alongside Junior or Milliam, showing them what color to put where. 

Dusty feet. 

Tripping on roots and rocks. 

Walking the 30 minutes in Sunday sunshine to church. 

Stepping on thorns that found their way in the tent.  

Squeezing a child in my arms. Forehead kisses. 

Breathing in fresh air outside after painting for so long. 

Watching House, ER, or Lie to Me every night during dinner. 

Igniting the gas to create hot water for washing dinner dishes.

 Six wild African puppies licking my hands and climbing all over me. 

Golden sunlight filtering through the tall grass as the sun descends. 

Cooking dinner with a refreshing breeze passing through the outdoor kitchen. 

Spotting hippos, crocs, giraffes, elephants, eagles, and cranes on the Zambezi. 

Sitting on the orphanage kitchen floor in a circle with the moms eating nshima. 

Frustration over paint drips that flew under the radar. 

Painful blisters from digging holes in the ground. 

Random bug bites. 

The dogs eating a pound of flour after the spill. 

How sound travels so far. 

Hearing drums, music, and lively shouts from the local bars in the middle of the night. 

Sleeping peacefully through the inhuman noises coming from a friend as she violently vomited right next to my bunk. 

The full moon illuminating the path at night. 

Hearing the gentle breeze in the dead of night. 

The dogs dreadfully howling or barking at suspicious-looking trees at 3am. 

Taking off our sandals to prevent sand from making its way in the house. 

Going on runs on sand roads and being able to see for miles off in the distance. 

Not knowing how long church will go. 

Acting out David and Goliath for the kids at church since no one else showed up. 

Going to the sketchy auto shop where the senile old man guard won't let you through the gate. 

Cooking for 18. 

Instant coffee and Zambian crystal sugar. 

Putting out brush fires with tree branches and shovels. 

How the land rover chugs diesel. 

Sorting endless clothing donations according to age, article, and gender. 

Brushing skink poop off the tops of library books and sweeping it out the door. 

Sitting with a child or adult, watching the joy of painting for the first time.  

The oh so complicated laundry system. 

Singing

I like to sing. In the car. At church. At karaoke. And, here in Zambia. 

I also like to just sit with the kids at the orphanage. Play, tickle, hug, giggle. It's a riot. 

Today I held 2 year old Nchimunya.  He was being a character, as usual, with his little face covered in boogers and dust. I sang over him songs about Christ, the notes echoing and magnifying off the walls in the orphanage. 

As I sat holding this precious gift staring up at me, Zephaniah 3:17 came to mind:

The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. 

As I looked down at Nchimunya, a defenseless child with no earthly parents, the mental image of our Heavenly Father adopting us as as his own, holding us close, loving us unconditionally, tenderly singing songs of peace over us ... it brought me to tears. 

Why?

Why fear knowing that the king of the universe holds us close, whispering words of faithful love? 

Why worry knowing that God takes great delight in us?

Why fret knowing that our God is mighty to save?