It is not uncommon for me to cry over pictures of African babies…but today it snuck up on me. From the time I was a little girl, I have known that Jesus has called me to pour out my heart and life on African soil. When I am in America for long periods of time, my heart begins to ache to be with ‘my people’ in the place where I belong and my heart comes alive. I cry a lot. I pray for the people I know I’m called to. My heart is broken, and it feels like I am separated from part of myself.
These past three months, (India, Nepal, and Thailand) I have been in countries and cultures drastically different than African culture where I feel familiar and comfortable…And I have loved each country. Every month, I have loved diving into the cultures and learning what life looks like for people around the world. Every month, my heart has grieved as I leave nations and people. I have been so busy being fully satisfied and embracing where the Lord has me that I had almost forgotten the depth of the hold that Africa has on my heart. I have found such joy and peace in these nations that I could see myself staying there after each month.
Today, one of my teammates showed me a picture of a little boy in a children’s home in Uganda and my heart was gripped all over again for the generation in Africa that has been left in the shadows of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. This deep and precious place in my heart was awakened all over again. With each picture I saw, more and more tears began to build up in my eyes.
Today, I was reminded that no matter where I go or what I do, Africa has my heart. Even with my true and deep love for the other nations – nothing compares to the depth of my love for Africa. When Jesus told me as a little girl that I was a missionary to Africa, He marked me forever. Africa is still and always will be the land of my heart.
