A New Chapter

We’re sorry for the lack of updates on here. Things have been quite busy as we arrived back in Zambia just over a month ago, signed a lease on a new house, and celebrated Valentine’s Day with our ladies & our friends. But I can’t really say that the busyness is why we haven’t been writing as much on here. It’s because we’ve been preparing for a new chapter of life, one we want to share with y’all.

There are a million prayers (well, almost), and a billion emotions behind this one. But we land on excitement, anticipation, and peace as we share with you the next chapter of the #BardiParty: We are moving back to America to be based Stateside for the next couple of years.

Here are the deets (leaving out a ton for time/space sake): After the legal stuff wraps up here, hopefully sometime in mid-April, we’re moving back to the US for a period of time, for the best step for CiH (and our personal lives/marriage/etc.). There are many factors at play, many quite complicated, but the gist of it is that Clothed in Hope needs Stateside support- increased funding, staffing, wholesale/corporate partners, etc.- if we want to continue (and we do!!). And there’s just not anyone who is able to do this right now. So while we’d love to pray someone into existence who could be the voice and hands of CiH Stateside so we can continue living our life here in Zam, we also have to look at the reality of today. There’s a need. There’s an opportunity. So we’re going to walk into it. We’re going to do what some may view as easier, but is actually harder, for us to move back to the US. After all, the only thing we’ve ever known as Mr. and Mrs. is life in Zam- ain’t that crazy?!

We’re obviously sad to say goodbye to the community of church and friends we’ve built over the last year. We’re sad to not get to live daily life with the women and kids at the Chikondi Community Center. But we are grateful for this opportunity, and the women are too. We’re looking big picture for what needs to happen for Clothed in Hope to really reach the place we believe God is calling us to, and this is just a step in the journey. Once we get to a place of Stateside capacity/sustainability, we would love to move back here and pick back up with our lives.

The ladies who run CiH in Zambia now are still killin’ it. And apart from the personal sadness of not getting to be together everyday, they completely understood and were 100% supportive of our decision to move back. Nothing in Zambia will change. I may not have let onto it all along, but we have 6 local staff members who are doing an incredible job. They are really the ones running the program here. And the fact that we’ve come to a place of in-country sustainability, being run 100% by nationals (a dream of many healthy international nonprofits), is amazing. A miracle, really. God is guiding this program. He is growing leaders out of former students. He is igniting change within a community, and it’s far beyond the Bardis, thankfully.

And that’s about it. Nothing tragic, nothing crazy (well, too crazy). Just another step for the #BardiParty in being faithful to where we see God leading. Never a dull moment around here, that’s for sure.

Here’s a little FAQ of things you may be wondering and would like to ask, or are too afraid to ask, or don’t feel like you know us well enough to ask, but would like to know anyways…

1. How long will you be back in the US?

We’re not sure yet. Just taking this thing one step at a time, but praying about 2-3 years.

2. Did something really awful happen that made you guys want to come back?

Nope!

3. Was Zambia life too hard for y’all?

Though it’s challenging, no. We’ve really enjoyed it here!

4. Won’t it be easier to come back to America?

Sure everyday conveniences may make things “easier,” but for us it’ll be a challenging move. One we would appreciate your prayers for. We’ll be transitioning from living in a developing nation, perhaps dealing head-on with all that’s really meant but we haven’t had time to process yet. We built our community and our lives here, and that’s definitely not “easy” to leave.

5. What will y’all do for jobs?

Amy will continue working full-time for CiH, probably traveling a lot to speak, fundraise, network, etc. Wyatt is looking for a full-time job to support our family financially since Amy’s salary won’t be (and hasn’t ever been) enough to support our lives- a choice made so even more money can go directly to the CiH program in Zam right now.

6. What kind of job is Wyatt looking for?

Wyatt would love a (non-support-raised) job related to or in the following fields: youth-related nonprofits, ministry, counseling. He graduated with a Youth Ministry degree from CIU. So if you have any leads, holler at us ;)

7. Where will y’all live?

Great question! We have no idea, and are open to many places in the Southeast depending on where Wyatt is able to find a job. Our top 3 are Charleston, Charlotte, Raleigh/Durham.

8. What will happen to everything in Zambia with CiH?

Nothing and lots of things! Nothing is changing with our programming. If anything, we’re growing, led by the vision and ability of our in-country staff. We’ve got some fun new products and programs in the works for 2015 and they aren’t contingent on our being in Zambia. And that’s a great place to be as an organization.

9. Will you go back in the meantime?

Yes! Amy will be going back every February and September (tentatively, as much as can be planned). Wyatt will join her as his job allows. Read: there might be times when Wyatt can’t come that Amy could bring a group- get excited, y’all!

10. How can we help?

We’re not too sure yet. Right now, helping Wyatt with job leads and such would be huge. That’s the first step. Apart from that, just prayer and lots of it as we walk into much unknown but knowing that Jesus is with us as much in Zam as He will be in the US. We would also love the space to just “be” through this transition, and grace in the silence.

Thank y’all for caring for us, for supporting us, for cheering us on, and for continuing to do all that as we move the #BardiParty from Zam to the US in the next couple of months! We are grateful for y’all, like woah.

Love,

A&W

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ps Thanks to all of y'all who have been praying for and checking in on Margret! She's fully recovered, CT scan normal. Doctors conclude that it was most likely a minor stroke called TIA (yes, really) that could happen again but hopefully won't. She's taking aspirin daily and has a load of prayer warriors behind her, and wanted me to share how she thanks God for each one of you! 

Everyday Trauma (+ Margret Updates)

Real talk: if you don’t like honesty and tough stuff and harsh reality, stop reading here. Writing is what God has given me to process through the hard things I see and do and walk through, so we’re here. Lately I’ve felt lost in it all, like I can’t even gather my own emotions/anxieties, so how on earth could I share them with others?

So today I will just begin. Some friends who really get me and know me deeply have challenged me to share my stories, to share the realities, to share the daily traumas because honestly, I need to. No one has to listen, no one has to read, but I need to share. I suppose I didn’t even realize that much of what I walk through on a daily basis is traumatic, but it is. And it’s important that I begin recognizing it and processing through it before my mind and soul explode. Sound good? Good.

Here goes…

Today I took Margret to the hospital. You can read more about her situation through some social media posts and this post.

And today I got more of the story: On Saturday morning, while Margret and her husband were praying together, Margret started feeling bad. Like really bad. She said her legs felt like ice while her brain felt like it was sparking with fire. Margret collapsed onto her bed, and continued to pray for healing until the words just wouldn’t come. She was unable to speak, but tears poured down her face. Seeing that the situation was incredibly severe, Festus, her husband, called a taxi and rushed her to the hospital, one of 2 public hospitals to serve over 1 million people of Lusaka and surrounding areas.

Margret was admitted immediately with symptoms of a stroke. One really great Zambian doctor compiled a full report on her. Margret was even given a bed, signifying the severity of her condition, considering that many patients are forced to sit/lay on the ground due to a lack of beds at this hospital. A few hours later, the doctor returned to find that Margret was speaking, even walking, and was astonished. It’s what they called a miracle. Margret stayed overnight for review. Her file shows that the doctor ordered some follow-up procedures like an EKG and a CT scan of the brain to check for abnormalities, clots, etc. However, the doctor’s shift ended and a different doctor came in. This was a weekend doctor from another country, who perhaps wasn’t as knowledgeable or as caring as the last doctor. This doctor discharged Margret with a diagnosis of a “headache” and a handful of antibiotics. So lame, right?!

Margret did not know that she needed a CT scan because the doctor who discharged her didn’t seem to care enough to let her know. Which is really dumb. Margret went to another hospital yesterday to get her EKG (since the machine was down at the first hospital) and an ultrasound of her heart. Both were normal, praise Jesus.

So today Margret returned to the hospital, this time with Wyatt and me. Before, she went with Elina because I was sick earlier in the week. This was my first time at this particular public hospital. I was impressed with the new design, the spaciousness, the cleanliness and the number of staff around. This hospital only opened a year ago, and I am grateful for it. Thanks to a Zambian doctor friend who’s also in our Bible study, Margret got to shortcut some inefficient procedures, got to read her chart fully to see what the first doctor really ordered, and discover that the hospital’s CT scanning machine was broken. Otherwise we would’ve waited hours and hours in line only to find out that she couldn’t receive her scan today. Besides being a bit weak, tired, and having a few memory problems, Margret was a champ. She’s probably the strongest woman I know. In fact, she is the strongest woman I know. Thanks to two generous donors who donated the exact amount that a CT scan costs at a private hospital, Margret was able to get her scan done in under an hour at this other hospital we took her to with the referral we needed. We pick up results tomorrow morning, and she goes for review of the results next Wednesday. The final steps in making sure our dear friend is healthy, and arriving at a proper diagnosis to treat if needed.

Those are the events. But what about the feelings?

Today I saw things I never thought I would have to see. Things I never imagined that I would see. Things that Margret probably sees daily, but are not normal. Things that are, indeed, traumatic.

Sitting outside waiting for Margret’s papers, I see a child being supported by her mother with a gash over her eye exposing the bone underneath. I see open wounds covering her entire head. I see her hobble along covered in a chitenge (cloth), most likely covering even more wounds. I thought she was walking around waiting to be seen, but she was just discharged. They did all they could for her. And after Margret speaks to them, she tells me that this girl has just been hit by a car. There’s not much else they can do for her besides send her home to rest and heal. A young girl, hit by a car. How? Why? No. Just no.

And then I see an old Corolla car swerve up to the front of the hospital. And out of the hospital doors, a man carries a limp boy, still in his school uniform, dead. His arms and legs just hang, and it takes me a minute to come to reality with this situation. His family members are in the car, shocked, emotionless. And the boy’s body is just placed in the back seat resting on the laps of the family members who came to try to save him. Who knows why he died? Who knows how he died? Who can even fathom the emotions plaguing every person in that car? Death so visible, so real. So awful.

And next to me is a man waiting to be seen who shares his injury story. He has also been hit by a car. Margret tells me that accidents are very common. This man rolls up his muddy pant leg, with a hem stitched in jagged stitches with embroidery thread, and exposes his wound. His leg and foot are swollen three times the normal size. His leg with a wound that has become infected, even discoloring his leg. Yet he shares his story so matter-of-factly. He chuckles when the rain falls; he is grateful when Margret gives up her seat so that he can be under the rain shelter when a storm approaches. He portrays emotions that are unfathomable to me considering his condition.

Person after person, wheelchair after wheelchair, limp after limp, sick baby after sick baby, sunken face after sunken face, exposed wound after exposed wound. It was all so much. The pain so tangible, so real, so intense, so heartbreaking. I get it- it’s a hospital. But words just can’t express what it’s like to witness hundreds of people waiting to be treated, on the verge of death, not just because they have an annoying cold or headache (guilty), but because they are about to die. Really die. Because the wound/disease/injury they have was even too much for their local clinic to handle.

I observantly watched the people go by, and kind of matter-of-factly even. Sure there is pain and death, it’s life. But I’m trying this new thing where instead of suppressing my feelings, I feel. I hurt. I break. I cry. I wrestle. I seek truth in the chaos. Even if the particular situation demands my strength for the benefit of others, like at the hospital, I can find that freedom, that respite when I reach my home.

Honestly I wanted to snatch up every single person and save them from their pain. I’m a deeply empathetic person and sometimes it’s a great thing. Other times it just really hurts. But I am grateful that Jesus made me this way. I can only get a glimpse at how He feels, how He pains. I wanted to force every doctor living the comfy life in America to come to Zambia to serve the 1.6 million people in Lusaka that only have 2 affordable hospitals to go to. I wanted to congratulate each (honest) doctor in that hospital for doing his/her best with an immense lack of resources and funding and an overwhelming number of patients. I wanted to fix it. And I still do. But I can’t.

But I can feel and grieve and hurt with the people I witnessed hurting today, people whose stories will go unknown, people who’s names will never be remembered beyond their own families. I can anger over the injustices of this world that are taking the lives of too many people, people who die from very treatable conditions and diseases.

And when my heart feels like it just can’t take anymore, I can look in the face of my Father who gets it. Who knows what it feels to lose a child. Who became man to take on every suffering and sin of the world. And whose promises I can cling to as the Bible says, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

There is intense pain and injustice and grieving in this day. The world is hurting and broken. But this is not the end of the story. Jesus came to redeem the world, and I get to live every day in the very real hope of what is to come- these promises that He’s spoken over all who believe in Him. The way today was, the way the hospital here is, the way these traumatic situations are, they aren’t okay. They aren’t how God intended them to be. They are not right. But Jesus died to make all things right, to reconcile us to Himself, to defeat death and pain and darkness. And when my head can’t figure it out and when my heart shatters, my soul will choose to believe that this is not all there is, not even close. The best is yet to come.

Margret & The Hospital

Yesterday afternoon I heard that my good friend Margret (the mama of the twins who I post about excessively- not sorry about it) was rushed to the hospital unable to speak and unable to use her legs, symptoms that came on frighteningly suddenly. She was referred by a compound clinic and sent to a major public hospital. Upon examination, it was determined that Margret suffered from a vague “heart condition.” She was admitted and spent the night in the hospital.

And that’s all I heard about it. Visiting hours were over. Margret wasn’t healthy enough to talk, let alone have a phone conversation with me. Margret’s mom stayed overnight with her, but was left in the dark about the goings on. Margret’s twins were rushed over to her sisters’ homes to stay with them while Margret was in the hospital.

And no other details than that. No explanations of treatments or medicines administered. No future specific diagnosis. No plan.

I was planning on picking Elina up at this very time (3:30pm) to meet Margret at the hospital in time for visiting hours to check in on her and get some real answers. A generous donor even contributed for Margret’s medical expenses and diagnosis/treatment for the unknown issue. But I received a phone call from Elina saying that she was discharged. She was on her way home.

Now I do believe in miracles. I believe 100% that her body could have been miraculously healed overnight. God is totally able.

But a part of me is curious about a different possibility, one that is all too real here. Perhaps this hospital is just like the one who poisoned my friend because she was “taking up space” at the hospital and they needed her bed for “someone else.” Perhaps Margret is facing the injustice of a lack of diagnosis simply because she is a woman from a compound. Perhaps she was attended to by the same doctor who murdered my other friend’s baby because a rich family needed the baby’s blood so that their baby could survive. Perhaps she has fallen victim to a corrupt and unjust system. And that pretty much makes me want to hurl.

But here I am. Still sitting in my house without any other option. I have to wait to hear from Elina later once she visits Margret’s home to try to get more details. Perhaps there’s a clear diagnosis with a clear treatment, and that would be amazing. Perhaps she has been completely healed by a miracle of Jesus, which would be incredibly amazing. But perhaps she has been sent home, “better,” but with a band-aid on a life-threatening issue.

And every ounce of my justice loving, deeply feeling, righteous anger driven self just wants to scream. I want to know. I want to help. I want to fight for my friend. I want to hold accountable the systems that threaten to kill my friends. But I can’t. I’m just one person.

But God. God is in control, even over situations as huge and confusing and complex as healthcare injustices in a developing nation. He is aware of her pain, her plight, her position, and He cares. He is fighting for her in ways far beyond my understanding. He is providing for her in ways I will never be able to. He is holding her and comforting her in ways deeper than my heart can even muster. He was with her in her going to the hospital, and He is with her now on her return. And when my heart breaks, yearns, shatters for answers and solutions, I can trust my Jesus. I can fight the fear and lack of control with the knowledge and belief that my God is greater. That my Jesus saves. That my Savior is our healer, our friend, our warrior.

So today Jesus, I put Margret in your hands. You know her. You formed her. You sustain her. You have created her for a purpose that only you know. She is yours and you delight in her. Even if I never know why and I never get to the bottom of this mystery, You are in control. You have all the answers. You are to be praised, adored, thanked. So thank you Jesus for loving my friend and for calling her blessed no matter what hardships she faces, no matter what storm threatens to engulf her. She belongs to you.