What do you picture when you think of Charity?

When Jonathan Edwards was writing one of his most famous series of sermons on 1 Corinthians 13, he struggled over how to describe in english the very practical outflow of what it looked like for Christians to love.  And so it was that he intentionally chose the word charity to describe the particular kind of love Paul was expounding in this chapter.  The published sermons bear the title ‘Charity and its Fruits’.  This is particularly interesting, when looked at in light of my days on Tuesday and Thursday.  I will try to describe in words as best I can, because it would have been inappropriate of me to take pictures of what I was seeing.  I am sure that the mental picture I have in my mind will be there for life, and I hope I can do justice to the pictures embedded there.

To back up a bit, the part of those two days I am going to highlight for you is the afternoon on Thursday, when Beth and I went to pick up Charity and her son, to go try to find shoes to fit over the braces I had picked up with Charity on Tuesday afternoon.   She is naturally very quiet, and each time we have spent time together, I have to ask lots of questions to draw her out, and learn all I can from her experiences.  So, as we drove on Tuesday, I had asked her how her husband’s job was going (he is a ‘driver’ for a Zambian lawyer and his family).  She, very nonchalantly told me that he hadn’t been paid in over three months.  Those of you who know me well (both the New Jersey native part, and the Holbrook part), know that the injustice of that rose up in me, and I, very UN-nonchalantly said “THREE MONTHS???? Why does he keep going to work?”.  And she replied, “well, he has a job, and each day the lawyer promises to pay him the next day” (jobs are like gold, and not a given for a man in Lusaka).  So, of course, as a mother and wife, the next thing I thought of was food and bills.  “How do you buy food, and pay your bills, Charity?”, I asked.  And, she smiled rather demurely, not angrily at all, and said, their extended family helps them.  I had, at this point, dropped them off and picked them up at what I thought was their home three times.  It looked like a typical compound house, cement brick walls, dirt yard, windows with bars over them, clothesline rope across the yard with clothes hanging on them, and one rag rug outside the front door.  Very sparse, very organized, and very ‘normal’ for 99% of the population of Zambia.  She had already told me that she swept the yard every morning when her husband went to work, and the dirt WAS very smooth. So, I thought her family must either live with them, or help them pay the land rent, because the house looked ample.

Fast forward to Thursday, Beth is driving, and Charity and son are in the front seat, and I am in the back.  Beth is asking Charity questions, and she is quietly answering some of them, and some of them, she just doesn’t even answer.  So, I ask if her husband has been paid yet, or not.  She said no, and now, for those of you who know Beth well (who, by the way, has no New Jersey, or Holbrook in her, but does have a really good gene for injustice well-bred into her soul) know that we BOTH screamed, which made Charity giggle a nervous little giggle.  When I offered that Beth and I could go to the lawyer, and ask for the pay for her husband, she really liked that.  Charity then said very quietly, almost under her breath, “he is going to resign on Sunday”. I asked what he was planning to do, and she said he didn’t know.  When asked what he does well, or what he is schooled in, the only answer she gave was that he likes mechanics.

This long drawn-out picture is the set-up for the next part.  My brain started working through the fact that this family has had no income, even though her husband has worked EVERY day except Sundays for the past four months, and that she and her son go out to buy charcoal from a distributor, and, on a good day, can earn 25,000 KW, which is approximately $5.  I started trying to picture MY family living on $5 per day.  How do you pay your rent, your electric bill, your water bill, and your food bill (forget medical care, schooling, savings, a car, car insurance, life insurance, vacations, or anything else we think of as necessities)?  How do you make it?  So, while Beth and Charity and I were at the stores buying her son shoes for his braces (remember, paid for by a SHN donor specifically for this need), I realized we could go to ShopRite, and buy her some food with the money left over from the money we estimated the braces and shoes would cost and the difference between that and the actual cost.  We bought nshima (25 kg bag), milk, fruit, potatoes, one little chicken, some bread, peanut butter, sugar, and a few other complete necessities.  I asked her what would be a treat for her, and she looked puzzled.  I reiterated my question in two other ways, asking, if I could buy her something special just for her, like a gift, what would it be?  A chocolate bar?  Something to read?  Etc… She picked out 2 plates.  One for her, and one for her husband.  She picked out one tiny pack of cookies, and then when we pushed her for any other needs (realizing that ‘treats’ aren’t ‘treats’ if you don’t have the necessities of life), Beth and she walked down the ceramic aisle, and picked out one mug for each of them, and two more small plates for their son.  (Nothing cost more than about $2 each!)

As we are doing this, her son is ABSOLUTELY ENAMORED with the shopping cart.  He has never been in one, and he is 4 yrs, 2 months old.  Can you imagine?  They have only ever bought from the tiny little lean-to-style markets in their ‘neighborhood’, and only what is absolutely necessary.  No impulse buying here.  We paid for her food, and walked out and are almost to the parking lot when I realize that they have no car, and never leave their home, or neighborhood.  So, rather than go home and get back to doing what needs to be done, I deliberately slow down and offer her a drink (after our whole afternoon at the Italian Hospital with no snack, I have now officially learned my lesson to never go anywhere without a snack tucked in my bag), and she very demurely agrees that she has nothing to get home for.  Beth, Charity, our cute boy, and I all sit at an outside table near a construction site, where the boy could watch the bulldozers and cranes work.  He was utterly fascinated, and could have sat there all day.  Charity, too.  But, alas, I do have a family that even though they can’t tell time well, absolutely know when Mom isn’t home in time to make a meal, so we had to go, fight the traffic to drive them home.  When we got into their compound, Beth stayed with the vehicle (not too safe to leave it alone and full of food when folks have such need), and I carried the bags into their home, surprised that Charity started to lead me to a side door.  As we go along the side of the home, the dirt is swept very neatly, and the stones are placed just so to make a path.  We walk into an indentation in the side of the home which leads us into a very dark hallway (going back toward the front of the house), and very shortly we come to an open cement doorway, with a filmy piece of fabric hanging over the door.  Charity says to me, “Here is my house!”, and when I walk in I realize it is ONE ROOM.  Her husband Aliston, herself, and her son eat, sleep and spend whole days inside one room, which is painted cement (and dark paint, at that), organized and neat, but so tiny.  She cooks outside on a charcoal cooker, yet I see very little food around.  They don’t have a stove or a refrigerator, or a washer, or any room for our little guy to start to walk!  I take it all in as I put the food down, and go outside to trade with Beth so she can go see.  By this time, she has a small entourage of little girls around her talking with her.  We trade, I stand guard, and she goes in.  As we leave, Charity is tremendously thankful, and says more words than I have heard in two full days with her.  Our little guy cries (because he has had such fun!), and Beth and I are both quite speechless (which by itself is a near miracle…).

How do we ever put into words the size and brightness of the houses we are used to, and the equipment of convenience we are used to, in comparison to a family that has no income, no electricity, no stove, no refrigerator, no money to buy food, and no hope for change?  What does charity look like in this situation?  Does it look like giving a job, giving hope in some other way, or not?  Does it look like changing my lifestyle to be able to give more?  Does it look like training them for a skill that they can use to earn money? Does it look like just praying for them?  WHAT?

The starkness of their situation has weighed on me.  They are only one family out of FIVE families we have helped just this week, and I can only imagine that will grow the longer we are here.  Please pray with us for wisdom, for multiplication of our resources so that we can share and share and share, and please ask that God would keep our hearts soft to what affects His.  Charity and its Fruits.  What does it mean to YOU?