Mike Climbs a Big Mountain

I am utterly exhausted in that beautiful, satisfied, aching kind of way. I’ll tell you about today in quite a lot of detail because it’s actually captures the feel of the whole trip a little bit.

Food

We had visitors and we were staying at Kamuzu Academy (the most bizarre boarding school in Africa, in case I haven’t mentioned it before, you can probably google it) so my alarm goes off at six and I endeavour to rouse everyone from their slumbers so that we can go and get breakfast at the school canteen. It was a pretty simple one by KA standards – bread and butter and rice porridge – but I have developed a deep and delightful passion for the rice porridge (of course accompanied by a more-than-healthy dose of Malawi brown sugar) so I am happy happy happy.

Transportation

So we head out to the town, the challengingly spelt ‘Mtunthama’, and look for transport to Kasungu for 6 mzungus (that’s ‘white people’ in Chichewa) and 3 massive backpacks. We end up in a small saloon car. With another Malawian passenger. So that’s a classic, slightly battered five-seater carrying eight people and a lot of bags. This was in fact only mildly uncomfortable and now I put it down in numbers it seems feeble in the face of general Malawian minibus practice – the other day me and my friend Sam travelled in a 7-seater minivan which was carrying 17 people. The next time you hear a politician talking about immigration and declaring sagely that “sometimes, you just have to say, there’s no room on the bus,” think to yourself: This person has obviously never been to Malawi.

Goodbyes

We get some cash out in Kasungu and then make our way to the bus depot, take a bet on one minibus to leave before the others or the anticipated ‘big bus’, and say goodbye to Rosie, Jenny and Grace. These are awesome people, and it’s been awesome to see them, and they have very much enjoyed staying at Chimbowe and playing with all our kids. As everyone does, they have complained about how much stuff our community does for us (dish washing, clothes washing, hot water for baths...) but are secretly just jealous! Hopefully we’ll see them for my birthday in a couple of weeks.

Big Mountain

Next on the agenda for me, Mike and Sam, is Mount Kasungu. Like all the hills here it just comes out of nowhere in the middle of completely flat bushland, so it looks pretty spectacular, and I have since discovered that it is 1071m high. We ask some people how to get there and instructed to walk ‘straight, that way’ and obey with confidence. The plan is to climb it (apparently it takes about two hours) then eat lunch at the summit (purchased at Sanan Superette, a shop which sells good biscuits at good prices, and is painted entirely green, so has much going for it) and come down in time to buy some building materials for Sam and be back at KA for dinner. So we follow the path until the path becomes a trail and then we follow it as it picks up and starts to wiggle its way up the mountain. It’s pretty much as I expected: a bit steep, rocky, overgrown, and every time you turn around an even more mind-blowing view presents itself for your enjoyment. And then the trail disappears. No worries, we decide, we can see the top, we know where we need to go, let’s just go there. So we get going. In the absence of a trail, however, the fact that this is the end of the rainy season and the grass is at full height, in this case well over head-height, becomes an all-too-tangible reality. Our ankles become very quickly saturated with prickles and sticks and little balls of thoroughly unnecessary spikiness. Our bare knees become red from the sun and the constant tickling of grass and scratching of branches. I hit my head on a branch. We take a lot of breaks to eat some of the food we were supposed to save for lunch, and far too much of our limited supplies of water. We keep going, encouraged periodically by noticing, again, the startling beauty of the country  spread out below us like a strange, handmade, all-green patchwork rug. The sun shines. I put some more suncream on but I can actually feel the backs of my hands and my neck burning. We sweat. A lot. We keep scrambling upwards through the grass and over the rocky outcrops – sweet, non-grassy relief whenever we can find them – towards the summit. Michael helpfully observes that we are making no noticeable progress. Myself and Sam disagree optimistically. A surprisingly good samosa gives me a boost. I keep thinking about how good it will be to reach the top. I say this, hoping to inspire the others, although I’m distinctly lacking the necessary eloquence at this point. This goes on for a long time. About 2 hours. 

And now we’re getting up to a really excitingly rocky bit, and I can see the top, and it’s not far away, and I speed up, and then slow down a bit to let Michael go in front, and we’re so, so nearly there, so close, and Mike crests a little slope and says, “Ah. There’s heaps more. About 100 metres.” (100 metres doesn’t sound like a lot, but at this point I’d say we’re genuinely up around a 40-50% gradient so it feels fairly significant.) So we keep going some more. And then I hear the others start to woop. And I clamber over the last few rocks and all around me I can see for miles and miles and miles and I woop too, and I point at the sky and say thank you to Jesus for being awesome and also that none of us have fallen off or broken our legs or been bitten by snakes. And we rejoice. And we eat food and drink water and chat. And we take loads of stupid photos. And it is good. Unfortunately we can’t just leave it at this and continue with our lives because we are now 1071 metres up a mountain. So we set off to go down. And this is much more difficult actually, and we all do a lot of falling over in the long grass, and not a negligible amount of complaining, and after a long, long time, and a lot of little prickly bits in our socks, we make it down again. 

But of course, from the bottom of the mountain we’ve got a half hour walk to town – throughout which we plan in detail what drinks we will buy as soon as we find someone selling cold drinks. I spot someone selling apples on the side of the road and go for it because apples are juicy and that’s close enough. And then we find a shop with a fridge and fanta has never tasted more beautiful, ever. And then, of course, we have to do food shopping, and Sam has to buy hundreds of nails and twelve 10 ft iron roof sheets. And we have to carry these things around, to a truck home, and then from the truck to KA, and me and Michael both cut ourselves on the metal, which is nastily like a papercut, just a lot bigger. But when we arrive at KA, there’s free dinner, and it’s fish, and they give us a boiled egg each as well, and good sauce, and lots and lots of cold water. And then I get to have a cold shower at the guest house, and sit on a sofa and listen to music and go on facebook chat and write a blog.

Jesus

This day has been good practice for me, I think. Because I’ve discovered recently that Jesus doesn’t just not make everything easy for us. He doesn’t even make everything into a really cool movie script where it’s tough and gritty and real and then we overcome adversity and reach an incredible, dramatic climax, and the good guys win and everyone hugs everyone else and then the story stops. Following Jesus is beautiful and hard all at the same time. And then sometimes, there are moments of breath-taking brilliance. Moments where I just need to go outside and sit down somewhere and smile and say, “Nice one, Dad”. Moments where a few words of the bible hit me so clear, and true, and beautiful, that I actually weep. Moments where you stand on top of a mountain and look around you at the world in all its awesomeness, and you take stupid pictures with your mates and laugh and take your t-shirt off just to feel the breeze, and every nerve in your body knows that God is good. But you never get to just walk away. You find yourself 1071 metres up a mountain and you realise that going down is actually scarier than coming up.

Coming back to school after the crazy passport thing has been like this for me – the big climax came, everything went mental, everything got sorted, roll the credits let’s go home. And then I realised that I can’t go home because I’ve got four more months. And at first I really didn’t like this realisation, but then I also realised that Jesus has got another 4 months of adventures and gloriousnesses to teach me and change me and love me and be kind to me and I cannot wait. And then, gently, it dawned on me that he doesn’t just have four months of these things. He’s got a whole lifetime waiting for me. And then something a lot lot longer and a lot lot better.

So basically I’m just trying to say that maybe you can’t even see the summit, maybe coming down is actually quite scary, maybe you just really want a fanta. But just know, always know, that God is good, and he knows what he’s doing. And he even knows just what those annoying spiky things in your socks feel like, and he actually cares. And that’s pretty much the coolest thing ever. 

What I Learnt From Dropping My Passport In A Waterfall

I’ve been trying to work out what God has been teaching me with the whole losing my passport twice in two days thing. And, on reflection, I reckon he’s been teaching me how to say, ‘Hosanna’. I apologise for the pretentiousness of that introduction – but to explain what I mean I’ll give you something I wrote in my notebook at probably the rubbishiest point of the whole experience. Picture the scene: I’ve been walking around a hot, smoky Lusaka for 2 days on ridiculously blistered feet, trying to get my emergency passport sorted out, and now I’m sat on a bus that was scheduled to leave for the border at 12.30, and it’s 3.30 now and we have not moved. And it’s hot, and I’m sweaty, and very, very tired. And we’re not moving. So I take my mind off it by thinking, and here's what I think:

I am learning now; in these long days and anxious moments, in the aches for certainty and for home that bring me to the brink of tears but never quite make it over the edge, in this weakness; I am learning how to cry ‘Hosanna!’.

On the banks of Victoria Falls, just before all this started, I had reached Palm Sunday in Mark’s Gospel. And I saw a note that explained that ‘Hosanna!’ literally means ‘Save!’ and was used as a shout of praise. I think I understand that now. I used to praise God simply by admiring him – telling him all the great things I knew about him, who he was, what he’d done for me. But to cry out to him again and again:

“SAVE!”

is something deeper. It is to sit, on this bus, in my powerlessness, and my impatience and my fear – and declare, proclaim with everything in me, my dependence. My soul shouts aloud that I am not OK, I am not strong, or independent, or calm and composed, I am in need. I need my God. I need to be rescued. I live my whole life convincing myself that I am in control, that I am self-sufficient in whatever way, but I realise now, honestly, that I’M NOT.

Only God is sufficient for me.

Only Jesus is enough.

“My heart and my flesh may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.”

My heart and my flesh may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart 

and my portion forever.

Hosanna.

To truly praise God I have to admit that I need him. He is necessary. God is not some unnecessary addition to the universe – some added extra – he is before all things and in him all things hold together. He is not a delightful bonus in my life. It’s in him that I trust. It’s in him that the whole thing holds together.

If God wasn’t real, my whole life would fall apart. I really mean that. And so I cry, ‘Hosanna’, I shout out ‘Save!’ and I declare not just God’s beauty, his kindness, his forgiveness, his brilliance, but also his necessity.

I admit it, I need Jesus. And I can feel that now, more profoundly and more acutely than ever.

There was an amazing quote in a book called ‘What’s so amazing about grace?’ (an incredible, incredible book by the way, I cried many times) from C.S. Lewis. He said this:

“We are mirrors, whose brightness, if we are bright, is wholly derived from the sun that shines upon us. Surely, we think, we must have a little – however little – native luminosity? Surely we can’t be quite creatures?... Grace gives us instead a full, childlike and delighted acceptance of our Need, a joy in total dependence. We become ‘jolly beggars’.”

And this thing about dependence, about weakness, about admitting that I just can’t do it by myself, is a thing that I’m very glad that God has taught me. Because I was thinking about it, and we live in a world full of independent people. Independent people who are desperate to reciprocate as soon as we receive any kindness because we can’t stand the feeling of being indebted to anyone. We always find ourselves saying, ‘Oh no, that’s too kind’ – because somehow there is actually a level of kindness that makes us feel uncomfortable. We are so determined not to be a burden to anybody that we refuse to ever put our burdens down, and we carry them around all day until we are exhausted, and the only time we really relax is when we lie down at night and close our eyes. We are so independent it hurts. But it seems to me now that independent is not something we were ever made to be. We were made to be children, who need each other, and who need our Dad.

I’ve had no choice but to live this way recently – at the placement I am utterly reliant on the community for all the ways they look after us, and in the last few days I’ve had no access to money except from the generosity and trust of my friends – and I’ve got to say, I’m loving it. Malawians say “Feel free!” a lot. I feel free right now.

I read somewhere, “I feel like I am living in a story that I am not writing.” I feel like that. And the thing about the story that I am not writing, is that I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I do know that the writer is a good writer, and the story is a good story.

Victoria Falls - a truly epic story

01/04/2013 - Easter Monday

I have fallen more in love with God and discovered more of my own stupidity in the last couple of days than almost any other time in my life. Here’s what happened.

I went to Victoria Falls on Thursday, and it is the most awesome thing. It was so awesome I almost cried. And in the afternoon I did the bungee jump off the bridge – 111 metres down through the Zambezi gorge – and I survived. And while I was bouncing around I could see a rainbow that went all the way round into a perfect circle, and it might have been the adrenaline, but it really felt like a covenant. Like God was reminding me how beautiful he is and that he loves me. Which was good preparation. So then on Friday we went on a day trip to Botswana which was absolutely incredible – we saw so many elephants, and giraffes, and a buffalo and a leopard and even a lion! And it just felt like God was smiling over that place – with its incredible beauty, and the strange, wonderful creatures. It was an amazing day.

And then on Saturday we went back to the falls, and I took my bible and my notebook and I went and sat on the bank of the river, just before the edge, and prayed for people, and read the bible, and wrote. And then just as I was praying for my friend Lara, she appeared, and we chatted, and my mate George joined us, and we climbed along a bit further and found a tree trunk, right on the brink of the waterfall, and we sat in the most amazing place in the world. I can’t possibly describe it to you, but I wrote a poem while I was there that attempted to express something of the awe and the delight – so here goes (feel free to skip):

They came to the Great Waterfall.
They could see the river rushing towards
the endless horizon of bubbling white water.
They followed the bank, picking their way
breathlessly through the trees until they
reached the brink.
Just on the cusp.
Sitting on a twisted tree trunk at the end of the world.
And they felt like if they jumped,
they would land in eternity.
And the water seemed to leap and dance
on the edge of oblivion before it fell,
and it roared, like Aslan trying to get your attention.
And it felt like God was smiling.
Laughing at his own exuberance.
And they smiled back.
And whenever they looked at eachother,
they burst out laughing at the
sheer, needless, majesty.
And somewhere in them stirred
a strange longing, a hunger,
to make the leap.
To jump off the edge.
To be, all of a sudden,
immersed, engulfed, enrobed,
in the power, the glory, the pure water.
To fall and be forgotten
in the midst of majesty.
To become nothing but a part of the roar.
But instead, they left their tree and
clambered down carefully down to the
very bank of the great river,
to a cleft in the edge,
 a chink in the armour,
a miracle of gentleness.
And they let the water wash their feet.
And they felt clean. They felt delighted.
And they felt found and lost all at the same time.
And together they looked out across the thundering flood
as far as they could see
And again they felt like God was smiling.
And they were right.

And after I had finished writing that, and reading some bible, and praising God for his awesomeness, I got up to leave. And I climbed back the 5 metres along the bank to where I’d left my bag  - containing my wallet, my phone, my ipod and my passport – and it was gone. And I thought, ‘I hope Lara picked it up, but if not, it was worth it.’

Thereafter followed about an hour of worrying and trying to find or contact Lara or George, and praying a lot, and trying to trust God. And telling him that I didn’t need him to give it back, but it would be nice. And then eventually I found Lara and she said, “I’m sorry.”

And that was a horrible feeling. And I walked around for a while pretending to have things to do, and then I went and got my bible and I kneeled down and I cried. And then I opened up my bible to Hebrews 12, and read, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus... who endured the cross”. And at those words, honestly the whole horrible feeling just left me, and I smiled, and I thought, ‘If Jesus can do the cross, I can deal with a passport.’ And then I read this in Philippians 3 – “I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish that I may gain Christ and be found in him.” And I kept smiling and I knew that Jesus is enough. I could lose everything, and Jesus would still be enough.

And I skyped the family, and got to talk to my brother for the first time since I came back and it was beautiful and he told me he has “JESUS IS ENOUGH” written on a big piece of paper, stuck to his bedroom wall, and I loved it and I was so happy and I praised God for him, and for being enough.

So today, I decided to go back to the falls in the morning, just to check with the office if a bag had been handed in. And I told God, that he didn’t need to give it back to me, but he is kind, and I am his child, and he knows how to give good gifts to his children, and please could he give my passport back.

And I walked into the office and they didn’t have anything. So I walked back towards the place where I’d lost it, so that I could check that a baboon hadn’t just moved it a bit, and then just pray some more. And on the way, I saw a family of tourists, holding a little plastic wallet and looking through it. And I realised it was my plastic wallet – and they said, “Is it you?!” and I said “Yes!” and I took my passport and my bank cards and my visa off them and I wept with joy. And I thanked them and I sat down on the floor and laughed and cried and praised God. And I had a picture with their little daughter, and I thanked them again, and they left, and I knelt down on the path and thanked Jesus from the bottom of my heart. And I had the most beautiful time of my life. In all those parables, the lost coin, the lost sheep, the lost son, I understand that feeling now. The feeling of losing something and finding it again – how beautiful and delightful that is. And it blows my mind that God feels that much joy when one of us lost children comes home. And I put everything in the plastic bag I’d brought my bible in and I promised to keep it very close, and I went back to the place on the edge of the world, to thank God. And I wrote this:

“HOSANNA! You are the greatest. I love you that did this on Easter Saturday and Sunday as well! Nice touch. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. You are enough. And you are so kind. How can you be this awesome and still have time to be kind to me? I can see the end of the rainbow. You are the greatest God. You are the kindest Father.

I cannot find words for your goodness. “What is man that you are mindful of him? The son of man that you care for him?”

I will dance and I will sing and I will love and laugh and play and praise you all of my days.”

And then I turned round to my plastic bag – which I’d carefully placed just behind me in a hollow in the tree roots so that no one could steal it this time! – and took out my bible to find something to read. And as I turned back I saw a flash of yellow and felt a gust of wind. And I looked down, and the wind had taken the bag, too light now, through a gap in the roots I hadn’t noticed, and down, into Victoria Falls. It was gone, over the edge, into oblivion, lost in the most permanent way imaginable. And I swore at myself, loudly, and then I laughed. And I stood and stared, grinning at the waterfall for a little while. And then I picked up my notebook and wrote this:

“Well. I’m never going to forget this. You’re so good and I just throw it away.

Thank you though - for everything.

I just dropped my identity into your glory, which is a good metaphor even if it was a stupid reality.

It’s definitely my fault now, which is good.

I love you Jesus and you are enough, and the beautiful thing is that however stupid I am, I can’t lose you, I can never throw your love away. You are always going to be there, and I will always be yours. You will always have my picture in your wallet.

And right now your wallet is the whirlpool at the bottom of Victoria Falls.

And now at last, I know, that Christ’s power is made perfect in my weakness.

There is something perfect about this.”

So now I’m going to the police station to try and get a police report. I don’t think they’re going to believe my story.  The last two days have been literally unbelievable. God has taught me so much, and held me so close. Jesus is enough.

And you have to admit, it’s a pretty incredible story.

N.B. Thursday 04/04/2013

Just to let you know – that it’s all good now! Mum wanted me to wait until this was the case before I put up the blog, so that’s why I’m a few days late. In the meantime I have typed and printed my own police report (“The secretary is on holiday... and there’s no ink in the printer!”); made three visits to the British High Commission in Lusaka, after an encouraging initial welcome from a security guard - “Your trespassing, that was not an official entrance”; and taken a day bus that was so delayed it turned into a night bus. But I have got over the border. I am safely and legally in Malawi, and I’ve now got about 16 weeks to complete what’s supposed to be a 4-6 week process to get a proper passport.

Also, over the last few days it has properly sunk in how incredibly stupid I was. The seriousness of my foolishness was initially sort of hidden from me by an immense cloud of God’s grace and kindness, and it took a day thinking about how much my parents were worrying to realise that God’s goodness being infinitely, unstoppably good, does not stop my badness being bad. I suppose that’s what grace actually is – is God being incredibly good even though we are genuinely bad. So, in that sense:

“Twas grace that brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”