Have you ever presumed you knew precisely what God would do? That you had already read the map of your life as God had written it? I have. And in that presumption, I discovered something: God is the Cartographer, the actual Author of the map. He alone holds the pen, and He has control over every turn, detour, and destination my life will take. Anything else is presumption on my part and will lead to great disappointment when God rewrites the map of life.
Tanzania had its own story to tell
In 2000, we moved to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, with our three children, then aged 14, 10, and 7. We had been living in Bujumbura, Burundi, and moved to plant a new church in Tanzania. Our decision to move was also influenced by our children’s need for a good school. A few months before the move, I traveled to Dar to explore educational options for the kids and discovered Haven of Peace Academy, a school founded by missionaries. It seemed like the perfect fit for our family, and a few months later, we packed up, left Burundi, and stepped into a new adventure.
We entered into the move with confidence. Though looking back, I wonder if it wasn’t confidence at all, but a mixture of faith, pride, and foolishness. God had blessed us so abundantly during our years in Burundi that we assumed He would do the same in Tanzania. In the nine years we lived there, the church had grown remarkably, and leaving it in the capable hands of local leaders was deeply satisfying. With that chapter closing so well, we fully expected the next one to unfold just as smoothly. But as we would soon discover, Tanzania had its own story to tell, and it wasn’t the one we had written in our minds.
When God rewrites the map, the struggle is real
The first order of business after our move was to find a place to live. This proved more difficult than we had anticipated. Our temporary housing, a mission guesthouse, came with its share of, well, challenges. The toilet was prone to clogging and often overflowed into the hallway just outside the bedrooms. Security was questionable, and we had only a month before the mission needed their house back. We were pressed to find a more permanent place to call home.
The struggle really was real.
God rewrites the map, and we smashed onto the rocks
The story is too long to tell (more details can be found in our book, No Retreat – No Regrets) in a simple post like this one. But suffice it to say, we went from riding the crest of a wave to smashing onto the rocks.
Renting a house we could afford forced us to look in a far-reaching suburb. We found something just in time, but like many rentals back then, the house was unfinished and unfurnished. Moving all our household items from Burundi wasn’t an option. It would have been both unaffordable and risky to do so. We decided to sell everything and start over. The money we’d set aside for furnishing the new place disappeared quickly, but we managed to get beds, curtains, and other bare essentials.
The kids started school shortly after we moved. Since our new house was far from the school, the drive took 45 minutes each way, a big adjustment for us. The previous city we’d lived in, Bujumbura, was tiny by comparison. Everything was nearby. We were never more than 15 minutes from the church or the kids’ school, so this new commute was a steep learning curve.
Remaining optimistic and full of faith
But none of this dampened our enthusiasm. Sure, Bujumbura was small and hot, and life in Dar was even more expensive and hotter, with long commutes to adjust to. Yet, we had learned to live through hardship. And after all, we had survived a war in Burundi and felt nothing could compare to that experience. We remained optimistic and full of faith.
Before we even arrived in Tanzania, we had submitted the necessary documents for the church’s registration. This was a crucial step that would allow us to live and work in the country legally by applying for visas under our organization once it was approved. We were led to believe that approval was just around the corner because we’d already been asked to pay the registration fee. As we understood it, that fee wasn’t typically requested until the application had been accepted.
Disappointment and rejection
But weeks of waiting for permission to operate turned into months. Alongside the frustration and disappointment of not being allowed to open the church was the increasingly complicated process of securing visas to stay in the country legally.
Initially, we lived in the country on tourist visas, which worked fine until we reached the limit on how long we could stay under that status. After that, we had no choice but to purchase a special category of visa costing a staggering $400 per passport while we waited for the church’s approval. With five of us, that meant scraping together $2,000 every month to remain in the country legally.
A year passed with little change. Although we received verbal approval to proceed and plant the church, the uncertainty surrounding the pending registration, along with the burden of costly visas, took a heavy toll on us.
In the end, although the whole story is much longer, we were told our church wasn’t welcome in Tanzania, and so we settled in Zambia.
Limping into Lusaka
This was a severe blow to our confidence. It still resonates all these years later.
I limped into Lusaka, Zambia, wondering if our work was finished. All the faith I could muster hadn’t been enough for Tanzania; how could I hope for more in Zambia?
Nevertheless (I know, long word, but it fits here), I found a way to muster my strength to begin again. We found a house to rent within our price range that wasn’t far from the school we were going to send the kids to, Lusaka International Community School (LICS).
I felt like a terrible parent, uprooting my children for the second time in as many years. Dar had not been kind to us, and I unconsciously expected Lusaka to be the same. While the school fees were more than we had ever paid before (a car had to be sold to pay them at one point), things slowly started to turn around for our family and the church.
Familiar tension
Also, the climate in Lusaka was a welcome change from the relentless heat of Dar and Bujumbura; there were actual seasons! We arrived in June 2001 and experienced our first cool-weather season in Africa. Jamie kept walking around, smiling, and saying, “I love this place!” The heat in our previous homes had been hard on him, so the cooler weather felt like a blessing.
As Americans, we were allowed to enter Zambia and stay for three months without a special visa. This was a welcome relief. But I couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling looming beneath the surface. Grateful as I was for that window of time, I knew we had to move quickly to register the church so we could apply for the appropriate work visas. That familiar tension I experienced in Dar hovered beneath the surface. And at times, it didn’t hover very quietly.
To keep my mind off the visa situation, I threw myself into meeting new people. Early on, I met a lovely woman named Joyce who sold odds and ends along the roadside. I invited her to our house for a cell group meeting, a kind of Bible study. For weeks, I tried to convince her to come using my broken Nyanja, the local language I was learning at the time. She would smile and say, “I’m coming, Amaibusa.” (“Amaibusa” means “Mama Pastor.”)
I also focused on getting the kids settled into their new school. While the school in Dar had been supportive, we hoped the one in Lusaka would offer even more assistance, and it did. Best of all, we lived barely 10 minutes away (cue the cheering), which made school runs easy. I signed them up for afternoon activities, and they quickly began making friends. Things weren’t perfect, what situation ever is? However, LICS provided exactly what our family needed at that time.
I trembled and trusted
Sandwiched in between all of these things was introducing our church’s file for registration. I clearly remember walking down the halls of the Registrar of Societies‘ building, where church files were introduced. My heart beat wildly in my chest as we handed the folder over. We were told to wait.
I dared not presume anything. I trembled and trusted.
I didn’t want to wait! The kids were finally settled, and I had started connecting with people like Joyce. I wanted the waiting to be over and life to begin again. We had spent the past two years waiting, asking, and hoping. By this point, my heart was sore.
Somehow, I managed to settle down and wait. Together with Jamie, I occupied myself by taking care of the family, studying the language, visiting Joyce and others, and holding cell group meetings.
Then, as if out of the blue, we received word that the church’s registration had been approved. It felt like we were living in the book of Psalms:
When the Lord brought back the captives of Zion, We were like those who dream.
Psalm 126:1 (NASB)
Until the time came to plant again
The church registration finally opened the doors for our visas, and for life to carry on. And carry on it did. Lusaka continued to bless our family in so many ways. Our firstborn, Tom, graduated from LICS and went on to study successfully in the USA. The other two continued to excel in school, growing by leaps and bounds. We truly enjoyed living in Lusaka.
Until the time came for us to plant again, we went on to start a new church in Malawi, and over time, the church has spread to other nations. Looking back, none of this growth would have happened without the disappointment we faced in Tanzania. What felt like a setback at the time was God setting us up for something greater.
It was all good
I’m sitting in my office in Pretoria, South Africa, as I write this. Guess what we’re doing? Starting over again and planting a new church. It’s not been without challenge, but again, what do we face in life that isn’t a challenge? I’m not as frightened starting over here in Pretoria as I was in Lusaka all those years ago. I’m much more relaxed and confident that God, no matter what storms come our way, will see us through.
Not long ago, we returned to visit the church in Lusaka, Zambia. It was a pilgrimage of sorts for me. When we left, the church was still meeting on a piece of land under a temporary structure. This time, we had come to dedicate the church’s permanent building. As I hugged Joyce and many others who have faithfully continued the work and grown the church, all the frustrations and tears of those early days faded away.
As our plane lifted off and Lusaka faded once again into the distance, a surprising thought settled in my heart: Tanzania had been good for me. For the first time, I realized that when God rewrites the map, He can be trusted.
It was all good.
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