Sunday morning was one of those times that I really felt like a missionary. 🙂
This week, we all went to a church that meets outdoors. And while it’s nice and breezy, the down side is that you take a 5 year old, 3 year old and a 20 month old out to the bush, sit them under a tree and… They think it’s time to play with the rocks and sticks, not sit still for preaching! Their wiggles didn’t get out before the service started, so I took Joey and Calina straight to the truck for the whole service.
The “parking lot” was next to a chicken coop. And since I kept all the doors on the church side of the truck closed in an effort to muffle Joey’s objection at being taken from his new playground, a bottle effect was created for the flies! They could easily come in, but not back out!
So, here I was, sitting in a very hot car, swarmed with flies, listening to my 20 month old object to this new lesson, nursing my baby (in public, so with an extra layer over us for modesty), thinking what a rather “unchurchy” way I was spending my Sunday morning!
Then my 3 year old was delivered by Daddy. Natalie had managed for a whole hour, but needed to come out now.
Now I had two children in tears, and another one sweating and starving.
And then Calina blew out.
In a beautiful display of God’s grace, about this time a very sweet lady from the village brought me a bowl of mangos and a pail of water to wash our hands. I couldn’t understand much of what she said in Chewa, but I could clearly understand her kind eyes. I was so thankful for those fruits! They were a welcome snack to some hot and weary children. 🙂
As it became clear the service was coming to an end, I began to get everyone ready for the (long) trip home. i.e.- cleaning up the mango juice and mud/dirt from little hands.
This is when the village drunk came up and started giving me his interesting theology.
About now, I was thinking the only thing that could make this day more notable would be a snake sighting. 🙂
Yes, Sunday was one of those days where everything seemed to remind me that I am a missionary’s wife in Zambia! And then I remembered a Bible lesson on missions I’d taught the children recently. Felicia had exclaimed, “We’re missionaries! …what’s a missionary?” I explained that a missionary is someone who leaves their home to go tell people in other places about Jesus.
She replied. “Oh. Then we’re not missionaries.”
I asked, “Why not?” Then it came-
“We haven’t left our home!”
It was a relevlation moment to me. While days like Sunday make me keenly aware that we are indeed missionaries, my kids don’t know any other home but Zambia. They know no other life but this. And it made me wonder…
What will it take for my kids to feel like a missionary when they’re grown up?