I’ve been in Africa for six days now and in that time I’ve learned a lot.
I’ve learned the proper Zambian greeting (special handshake and clap, sometimes a hug), how to say, “Hi, how are you?” and “I’m fine, thanks,” in Lozi, and that I’m finally getting used to the cadence and rhythm of “Zamglish” (Zambian English).
I’ve learned how to properly eat a traditional Zambian meal (pictured below… it was delicious) and how to talk to people as we go down the road.
I now know Zambians are the warmest, most friendly people I’ve ever encountered and that the children are adorable and love to laugh at my crazy faces and games.
I know it hasn’t rained since April and it won’t rain again until October.
And I know that here in Mongu sand is everywhere.
Roads of sand.
Driveways of sand.
Yards of sand (no grass).
Sand on my legs.
Sand on the floor.
Sand in my shoes.
Sand in the shower.
The sand is everywhere.
But, as I was sitting on the back porch this week looking at the back”yard” of sand, I noticed something.
Paul and Velda (the missionaries from our church that we’re staying with) have fruit trees growing around the brick fence.
There are papayas and bananas and even sugarcane. It’s beautiful.
But it’s in sand.
“Whoever planted these must have dug down deep and planted the trees in dirt, right?” my pastor asked Paul.
“No,” Paul said. “It grows like that.”
Only the Lord can bring life from dust.
Here, in a Zambian backyard, God’s creation is pouring forth speech and day by day declaring His glory. The glory of a Creator who made everything out of nothing, a man out of dust and a woman out of man, and a redemption story that cannot be stopped.
He is amazing.
May He receive exaltation from every speck of our dust.