I cry.
In the past few months since being home people have asked me about the many places we’ve visited. I tell them about our time in Palenque (over a year ago now), the dumps in Nicaragua, the mountains of Peru, the tribal people of Thailand, the slums of the Phillipines, the schools filled with Chinese orphans.
But when I talk about Africa, I can’t hold back the tears. Why is that? Did Africa really have that profound of an effect on me? What makes it so different than the other places we lived?
One of my best friend’s leaves for Botswana in about a month. When I came home she asked me to talk to her about my experience in Africa. She told me that she’ll be doing AIDS education as her role in the Peace Corps. I then shared with her the things I learned about the AIDS epidemic (as if she never heard the stats… after all she did graduate with a masters in international public health). But it’s different after you’ve seen it. AIDS has a face now. It seems as though everyone is AFfected even if they aren’t INfected. And that is life in Africa.
I handed my friend a copy of Tom Davis’s new book, The Red Letters. I read it myself, and cried. I cried because the statistics are people I’ve met. If you haven’t read this book, do yourself a favor and get it. Even better, go to Africa and experience it.
I’m working again. I’m a personal trainer at a large fitness center in the most affluent area of metro Boston (along with Scott). Sometimes as I pick up fitness equipment around the gym I think about the orphans I played with, the adults I danced and sang with, and I get choked up. Potential clients have asked me if it’s hard working in a place that is obviously “rich”. I can’t say that I wouldn’t want to relocate some of the cash, but what I can say is that these people are some of the most altruistic I’ve met. And these people let me share my story, even if I get a little teary eyed.
Sometimes I sit behind the desk and talk with other trainers about the things I’ve seen… and the flood waters begin their rush.
Am I where I’m supposed to be? If I cry this much shouldn’t I just go back to Africa now?
But then I’m reminded of the dreams and passions God has placed in me. A dream of having people realize that the body, spirit, mind, and emotion are meant to be balanced, in order to reach wholeness. And then I understand that my tears affect the people here to see that life is more than just about self.
I just don’t ever want there to be a day where I think of Africa and feel nothing.
God, please make Africa burn in my heart. I know it burns in yours thousand times hotter.
