All week Sara has been asking Amber and I to sleep over at her house. Every night she comes over after work to make dinner for us and then walks to an empty house at the edge of town.
She didn’t always live alone. Just five months ago she married an incredible man and happiness bubbled from their house for two months. But then the diabetic wound on his foot got worse and he was hospitalized in the city five hours away. Although he calls her several times a day, the distance is hard on the newlyweds. It’s no wonder she asks night after night if we would like to come to stay with her.
Finally, last night we had a good old-fashioned sleepover.
Amber and I packed our pajamas and pillows and followed our delighted friend out the door yesterday afternoon. We followed her through town to the outdoor market where she bought a wide array of fruits and vegetables and a very peculiar-looking dried fish. While we were negotiating prices the sky opened up and poured torrents of rain on the colorful market tents. We sat on wooden crates with the tomato vendor while we waited for the heavens to finish their tantrum.
Then we skipped over puddles and weaved through mud huts to Sara’s home. It was just a little place composed of one sleeping room and one sitting room, in which she seated us on the sofa and pulled out Coca Colas for us. For hours we talked about our families, shared longings of home and the hardships of being separated from loved ones. She pulled out her wedding albums and we looked through the pictures, asking about every guest and wedding tradition. When it got dark we cooked together on her outdoor coal stove and feasted like royalty on pasta, fish, vegetables and mangos for dessert.
What hit me as I lay between Sara and Amber on the kingsized bed that night was how much she resembled my friends from home. The evening had felt like any other weekend sleepover I still have in the summers.
Previously when I had envisioned Africa I pictured remote villages, exotic animals, native Africans in tribal wear, clay huts, and dirt roads. I couldn’t have imagined a more distant place or foreign culture. And while most of that is pretty accurate, it’s strange how relatable this Sara was to me.
The funny thing about traveling is that the farther away you go the more you realize that people are exactly the same. We all have the same needs and desires. Sure, cultures are unique and surface details are different, but when it comes to heart issues, people are just the same. They love and search for love. They have hopes and dreams. They long to be known, accepted and embraced. People also carry burdens and share fears. There is sickness, loss, and disease, accompanied by heartache, fear, and loneliness in every culture. But even in the most desolate situation there is kindness, generosity, and hope.
Most of all I’ve found that every person needs a friend. Everyone needs someone who genuinely cares and takes the time to ask about their heart. Someone who doesn’t have an agenda, but accepts them as they are.
See, what Satan tries to do is isolate us. He highlights differences and uses them to keep us apart. He makes us think we don’t have anything in common with the girl caked in dark makeup or the hard-faced man in the cubicle next to us. He wants us to stick inside the comfortable circle of what we know and never offer a kind word or listening ear.
On the other hand, Jesus loves bringing people together. From what I know, he’s the guy inviting strangers into his home. He’s the one who searches the room for the person standing alone, initiates conversation, asks questions, and really listens to the answers. He knows that people were created for relationships, both with each other and with their Creator. He knows that deep down we are all looking for a friend, a real friend who actually cares and loves us with no agenda. And he offers that friendship- the original, ultimate friendship that every heart craves.
