We’re wrapping up our time here in Malawi. In just two short weeks, we will be boarding a plane and heading back to Canada. We’re in the works of preparing our next steps (stay tuned, more info on that to follow in the next blog!) and getting our hearts ready for the inevitable goodbye. It seems like our time here has been flying by and it’s hard to believe it’s almost over.
Last week, the kids returned from their holiday and school resumed again. The classrooms echo with their voices once more, and often excited children will run past our window during recess, screaming and laughing and playing games of their own invention. Around 11:30am, a parade of the Pre-K and Kindergarten students will stream past the office on their way home and wave at us until they disappear out of sight.
Once a week, Jeremiah and I do house visits with the teachers, meeting the children’s caregivers, sharing about safeguarding, and praying for them, and it is becoming more and more common for the children to shout enthusiastically when they see us in the village- “Uncle Jeremiah! Auntie Diana!” Most of the kids know us by name since we’ve been teaching them child-safeguarding classes for the last five weeks.
One of my favorite moments happened a few weeks ago. Jeremiah wasn’t feeling the best and had gone home early, and I met up with the child safeguarding officer of the school, Jane, who asked me to come do house visits with her. We set out on the dirt roads, picking our way through the narrow streets in between the mud brick houses, and waving or greeting the locals who acknowledged us. (Frankly, when the sun reflects off of my basically translucent arms, I’m hard to miss hahaha.)
I don’t know when it started happening, but somehow we had accumulated a little following of children. There were about five or six of them, siblings or friends of our students, who trailed us to each house and sat around me as Jane and I visited with the caregivers. One of our last houses belonged the grandmother of a student in grade six. I had noticed this particular student in class, his dedication to his work, his attention to the teacher even when others were distracted, and his clear respect for his classmates and his teachers.
His grandmother had laid out their house mat made of straw on the dirt ground and Jane joined her, while both insisted I sit on a small stool. I genuinely tried to sit on the ground but I wasn’t strong enough to win against their powerful wills, hahaha. The children gathered around us, crowding in as close as they could get to me, some touching my skin and feeling my hair and then giggling to each other. The grade six student sat on the house step and listened intently as Jane and his grandmother talked.
His grandmother shared she had cholera a while back, but the Lord saved her in His grace, because He knew she needed to raise her three grandchildren before she was called home. We praised God together with her. Jane asked me to share a word of encouragement from scripture, as was our routine, and the verse of that day was Psalm 16:8-11. I read the scripture and explained how this verse encourages me, hoping it would be an encouragement to all those around me as well.
While I spoke, the children watched me carefully, and when any got distracted, the student in grade six quietly corrected them and told them to listen. And it struck me that this was the third or fourth time the kids had heard this message and they were still just as enthralled as the first. I began to pray, even as I spoke the message, that it would sink deep into their small hearts, and be the truth they live out of: the hope of eternal life in the presence of our eternal King.
It’s funny when we look back at situations that we’ve lived through, how we see ourselves in third person. That scene, the picture of the children, of Jane and the sweet grandmother and myself is seared into my mind. It’s moved me so powerfully, and I struggle to articulate it or even understand why. But I have a theory. The Lord answered my prayer. Something profound took place in that moment. Perhaps a child began to understand the Lord’s love for them more deeply, or the Lord planted a seed in their heart that He was going to reap later. Perhaps it was the revelation I had about how Jesus did life with His disciples. Or maybe, just maybe, a child accepted Christ into their heart for the first time.
Spiritual moments are a mystery. So much happens behind the scenes, and I will probably never know what took place. But I felt it’s impact, and I know my Malawian brothers and sisters did too. I thank God for the opportunity to share this season with them. I thank Him that He is guiding us all in His perfect plan, and that He is earnestly seeking all of our hearts. And I praise Him that I get to ponder that priceless moment in my heart as a reminder of the beauty of people of different cultures gathering together wherever they are to give glory and honor to God. It’s just a glimpse of what is to come.
Soon, so soon, every tribe and tongue will be together, singing, dancing, praising, crying tears of joy, honoring the same God. Celebrating each other, favoring each other, honoring each other, in the grandest family God has ever made. When Jesus died for us, He not only gave us Himself, He gave us the fullness of each other. And oof, I don’t know how to thank Him enough.
Praise be to God for His indescribable gift!
Zikomo,
Diana
Our First Journey Together 