Tuesday. It's that in-between day that doesn't quite merit the same mentions as its six other siblings. It's that time when we've gotten past the mondays but still have hump-day to deal with. For us here in Zambia, it's a bit different.
If Monday was a bonfire, then today has been a bed of hot coals. The excitement and chaos of learning what exactly we're supposed to be doing has burned itself down as we've begun to establish new rhythms. Morning fruit and toast precedes warm greetings from Petronella, the program director and office manager at Fortress Vision, and a bus ride to the academy. The students, having tasted what we hope to teach, are insatiable. We've found ourselves surprised at their progress at every turn, and already we can tell that we need more, since what we've seen is far more than we had imagined or hoped for.
With this has come the realization that there is real need here at the academy. They lack some of the most basic materials that no school in the States would be without. Whether it is a collection of etudes or a simple repair kit, Choma Music Academy has needs that can be solved very feasibly.
Even so, the work we are doing is making a difference. This carries an important lesson. The way this academy is run may be different than what we have in the states, but that doesn't mean it can't produce fruit. This place is alive and growing, and we are simply catalysts for that growth. We are here not to create a new ministry or a new way of thinking. Rather, we are simply trying to further the change that has already begun to take place.
The most profound experience for me today had little to do with the academy itself, however. It was a conversation with Petronella. After teaching a lesson I had some free time, and we talked as we took in the afternoon sun. We talked about family, about church, and about children as her daughter Malele came and went. At one point Petronella said "Malele, why don't you sing for uncle Zach?" I was shocked at being given the title "uncle." As the day wore into the night, the profundity of such a simple gesture made itself fully known. In calling me uncle, she was calling me, a 22-year-old American she has know for 2 days, her brother. As I write I begin to realize that perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. This is the embodiment of the brotherhood that Christ has called us to. We are all of us brothers and sisters, regardless of nationality, race, or background.
I wonder, how often do we think this way wen discussing missions? Do we think of those we are reaching out to as wayward people needing our own special brand of salvation, or as our own flesh and blood who need to be lifted up and supported in their own situations?
For more information about Poetice International, its ministry in Zambia, and updates on this trip be sure to check www.poetice.com and follow @livepoetice on twitter.
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