I remember counting the months, then weeks, then days as my departure date was approaching for this here trip-a-roo.
I remember counting down the hours and minutes at my job, in my classes, in chapel services, sporting events… there always seems to be a countdown.
Counting down my life.
Time, however, is going extremely fast. It’s going faster than it has ever gone. Although I started counting down until I would leave Africa, it’s weird to have left. Although I hated the label, I still refer to myself and others as Mzungu (white person; we were called that more times than I can count!) All I wanted was to blend in while I walked down the street. To truly experience the culture and not the front, the prestige or walls that the color of my skin would bring since we are the same.
Africa is in pain and the weight it carries is heavy. But laughter is still there and carrying that heavy load has made them strong, resourceful, and resilient people. I’ve come to admire many of them – the men and women of God who are making a difference, who haven’t lost hope in God, who still value His name more than any other.
I don’t understand many things about their culture, but I miss the people there. Their welcoming spirit and the beauty found among the hardship. I miss the children that would wrap their arms around me and not let go. That would walk me home at night and run to me in the mornings. The children made Africa for me. I pray they will be able to rise up out of their life circumstances. That they would begin to dream of better things, that they would influence their families and the nation in their child like faith.
I’m naïve and small, and wish there were more I am capable of doing. For all the times prayer is all I can do (for people here as well as back home) it only confirms how small I really am. I’m wrestling through the power of prayer. What impact does it really have? I remember the words I spoke to a fellow team mate who struggled with the same thing a while ago, about the unseen battle that wages war around us. Although physical circumstances might not be seen it doesn’t mean the spiritual side is not being altered by the words I speak to the Living God, my God who is good and who cares about even the tiny details. My God who is big enough to take my doubting questions. So, I’m praying my empty words come to life again.
I never would have done a lot of things that I did in Africa if I hadn’t been lead to do them. God this month I desire initiative, intentionality, Your eyes, Your desire, and Your passion. Whatever part of my heart that Africa has stolen I pray that You are able to use it. That this ridiculous counting would cease and I’d live in the present for your glory and I would take part in every minute you give me instead of counting them away.
