Musings from my mind:

Driving over impossible roads to attend a funeral. Out in the middle of nowhere a large hole is dug and waiting, mourners are piercing the air with loud cries and we sit in the village on the ground waiting for the service to begin. I am used to the whaling of the women now. It reminds me of the descriptions in the Bible of the mourners for Lazarus. Because this is Africa, the funeral has a written program of events and we are asked to place flowers on the grave to represent the different areas at Namwianga Mission. I think that the loud whaling is healthy for us. It allows the mourners to express their feelings because death is so common here. They know it is all around them and none of them have been missed by the mark of its grasp. I have attended several funerals since we moved here two years ago. This funeral was the only one where the deceased person was even remotely old. She was 62. The other funerals were for an 18month old, a 2 year old and a man who was about 30. So here the Zambian must come to terms with their mortality early in life. I think Americans feel entitled to a long life, healthy and productive. Then at an appropriate age we slip into that drug induced mist of death. For Christians we believe that our life will continue with God. The Zambians who are Christians believe that but they are so much more realistic about the life here before death. They are grateful for each day they have and don't take anything for granted. They expect pain with their passing. They expect pain with the daily life and are grateful when that can be relieved by hospitals here. But despite all this realism they are some of the most joyful people I have been around. They do not let their circumstances determine their outlook. I give Thanks to God daily for that lesson laid out before me. He is our joy and not things around us . We do more than just exist , we live. If I have learned nothing else while living here I am learning to live abundantly. In the laughter and love of God's people.