Just a Mzungu

“Hi mzungu” – the two words that we hear with every step we take down the dirt roads of Maramba. The community where we stay here in Zambia is called Maramba and Mzungu means “white person.” When Zambian children see us passing by, they have so much excitement in their voices as they yell “hiiii mzunguuuuu.” Usually we don’t just pass them by, though. Usually they grab our hands, jump on our backs, or walk alongside us to where we are going. By the time we reach our destination at least 20 happy, energetic, full of life kids have joined us.

The transition from Zimbabwe to Zambia hasn’t been an easy one for me. Everything about Zim was incredible and it was hard to leave. Life looks a lot different here in Zambia, but I’m now realizing that it is also incredible.

I’m embracing the fact that there won’t be a moment I’m not covered in sweat and dirt.

I’m embracing the fact that it’s okay to go some days without running water and electricity.

I’m embracing the fact that though ministry is not my thing this month, God is going to teach me something amazing through it.

So, what does ministry look like this month?

We spend every weekday teaching in classrooms for elementary aged children. Yes – we are in classrooms, but they probably aren’t quite like the classroom picture that came to your mind, they are Zambian classrooms. One of my teammates and I are in an average sized classroom with nearly 100 first graders. About half of them don’t even know how to read and write, but there’s only one teacher for all of them. Most of the times the slower learners just get left behind. Teaching a classroom of nearly 100 first graders is overwhelming to say the least. Usually the kids are jumping on tables, yelling, and dumping water on each other. Getting used to this environment isn’t easy. At first I found myself thinking things like this:

“you have no teaching experience, so you can’t make a difference”
“there’s no way you can teach 100 kids who don’t all know English very well”
“you are not needed here”
“just get through these next three weeks, then you’ll be home”
“you can’t make a difference in a classroom of 100 kids.”

You can’t make a difference. Have you ever felt defeated or defined by that lie? I know I have.

God is continuously reminding me that showing these kids they are loved is the best thing they can learn. I’m realizing that the main goal this month should not be to teach, but to love. To love beyond the imperfections. To love beyond the tiredness. To love beyond the Zambian heat. To love unconditionally.

Peter, Steven, Alice, Christine, Sarah, Susan, and all of the other children just want to be loved. They just want to be recognized and called by name. Showing them they are loved will make a difference. Reminding them that they are smart and valued will make a difference. Embracing their hugs and giggles and craziness will make a difference.

My heart is full when we walk down the dirt roads of Maramba and the neighborhood kids grab our hands and join us.

My heart is full when we hear excited little voices yelling “hiiiiii mzunguuuuu” with every step that we take.

My heart is full when I hear little voices singing to Jesus at the top of their lungs.

My heart is full when I see people finding joy in the simplest moments.

My heart is full when I believe the truths that come from our Father over the lies that come from the enemy.

I’m imperfect.
I’m flawed.
I’m just a mzungu, but I can love without limits and trust without borders.
I’m just a mzungu, but I can make a difference.

Don’t ever believe the lie that you can’t make a difference. You are exactly where you need to be and you were created with a purpose that no one else can fulfill.

You are imperfect.
You are flawed.
You can love without limits and trust without borders.
You can make a difference.

Remind someone they are loved this week, it could change the world for them. (:

love & prayers, 

Amber