Zambia Hunt

When I travel to the West, I’m often asked, “What does a typical day look like for you?” I usually smile, because there really is no such thing as a typical day. I once went back through my notes to try to explain what life and ministry here actually feel like. What follows are a few snapshots.

One morning, a man arrived to replace the motor on our electric gate and repair the security fence. He had originally been scheduled to come two days earlier, then again, the following day. Each time, there was a reason for the delay. Late in the afternoon of the second missed appointment, I received the familiar call: the materials still had not arrived. When they eventually did, the work finally began.

The battery for our inverter began dying after about an hour, even though it was new. A technician inspected it and said it was under warranty and needed to be returned. After it was taken back, the company reported that there was nothing wrong with the battery. It was returned, reinstalled, and tested again, leaving the problem unresolved.

During a construction project at the university, we hired a front-end loader to move laterite and level a driveway. The cost was higher than in the past, but the work needed to be done. About ninety minutes into the job, the machine developed a flat tire and became inoperable. It sat idle for another hour and a half while a replacement tire was sourced. When the work resumed, the replacement tire was only half inflated, which meant half-loads in the bucket and slower progress—while still paying the full day’s rate for half the work.

Another crew was contracted to install ceilings in one of our buildings. They were expected to arrive from Lusaka on Monday. On Tuesday, I was told they were “on their way.” On Wednesday, the message was the same. On the fourth day, one man finally arrived, without his partner, making it impossible to do the high work in the main auditorium. He assured me his colleague was still coming.

In another instance, a local aluminum company was contracted to replace windows in a new guest flat. When they arrived to install, it became clear that they had manufactured complete replacement window units instead of fitting them into the existing metal frames, as they had done for every other window on campus. There was no explanation. The result was an urgent search for a cement-cutting disc to remove the old frames and install the new windows.

All of these anecdotes are periphery to the real work. People. Gospel ministry. Discipleship. This includes early mornings in the office studying a text for the Sunday sermon, the steady stream of people who stop by to talk, meetings with fellow ministers, and discipleship appointments. This is a deeply personal, face-to-face culture, and to encourage, train, and edify others, time must be given freely. Those who make the effort to be present often receive the majority of my time.

The result is that no two days are the same. Many times I’ll get home and tell Lori, “I don’t know what I did today, but I sure am tired!” 

None of this is unusual. It is simply daily life here, marked by repeated delays, broken expectations, improvisation, patience, and persistence. And in the midst of it, the Lord continues to teach me to hold plans loosely, trust Him deeply, and keep moving forward, one step at a time.