I need to be honest with you, friends. I did not want to come to Africa and never expected to be here.
Remember the thing about expectations- don’t have them. Just don’t. I’m convinced God delights in tearing them apart.
Africa was not on my original World Race route. It was changed last minute because not enough people signed up.
I accepted the change knowing this was the route the Lord had planned for our squad. I didn’t start thinking about the fact that I’d be in Africa for real until last month. And it didn’t fully hit me until I walked out of the air conditioned airport into the haze of Abidjan and thought “I already forget what breathing feels like.”
Yes, the expectations of feeling like I’m in a perpetual hot yoga class were accurate. What was unexpected was arriving at a house sitting amidst a garden of bright pink and yellow flowers, dense trees, and a lazy river. The atmosphere of peace and joy surrounding this village is rare. Though we don’t speak French, laughter comes easily with our new family while we sit together drinking tea on the porch.
After a day of settling into our new home, we went to bed our first night filled with excitement about what God is going to do this month.
At 3:00am I woke up feeling like someone was stabbing me in the stomach. I rolled over, willing the pain to go away. It didn’t. I spent my first night in the bathroom. All I’ll say is there’s no running water and the air-conditioned-less heat is dense. I’m sure your imagination can fill in the rest.
Around 7:00am it was safe enough to venture back to my tent. I told Jordan and Joey what was wrong, and they made sure I had water and a cool fan before going to breakfast. A little while later, a steady stream of women came in my room, stopping to ask how I was feeling, offering encouragement, and asking if I wanted to eat anything. They cleaned the bathroom, vomit bucket included. One of the women, Joslyn, brought me tea and breakfast, insisting I needed to eat to be strong. She sat with me for a while, talking to me kindly, then told me to call for her if I needed anything.
She left, and I started crying. The love of these women was overwhelming. They knew me for less than 24 hours, but were taking care of me like a daughter. Why would these women be so loving when I was so gross? And how could I possibly thank them for their kindness?
A few minutes later another woman came to tell me the doctor wanted to see me. It seems getting sick here is a community affair. I was taken upstairs to wait, and was greeted by 20 community members. They all wanted to know how I was doing and sat with me until it was time to go. Two men walked with me and Joey to the doctor’s office a mile down the road (considering I was nervous laying in bed five feet from the bathroom, making it to and from the doctor’s was a minor miracle).
I wasn’t feeling much better about my situation as we approached. Then I thought, “what would a village doctor’s office be without chickens running around?” and had to laugh. The pastor greeted us and as we sat talking with the doctor, I learned a few things. One, people in Cote d’Ivoire take medicine to cleanse themselves from parasites every three months. They are inevitable. Two, malaria here is as common as the flu and equally treatable. Pastor couldn’t even recall how many times he’s had it.
We left with a pharmacy of drugs in hand and the knowledge of a little friend who made its home in my stomach. He won’t stay long, but the probability of picking up more parasites is pretty good.
When we returned, our new community greeted us and insisted I eat and rest. They made more tea and sat with me and Joey until I finished, then told me to sleep. When I later came upstairs for a meeting with the Pastor, people literally clapped because I was feeling well enough to get out of bed. If you’re going to get sick, get sick in Cote d’Ivoire.
Last month I was challenged to experience and fully receive the love of Christ. This is something I struggle with and am constantly growing in because I want everyone to experience his love. How can I expect others to believe his love is the best if I can’t accept it?
So here’s what I am learning as I lay in bed. God loves us when we’re gross. We don’t have to do anything to deserve his love. Honestly, all we really have to offer him is a vomit bucket anyway. And maybe that’s supposed to be our response to him, humility in knowing he wants to clean up our sickness. He does it every day and all we can do is sit and marvel and ask, “how can I try and bless you because you’ve blessed me so much?”
God is good, guys. I’m excited to see what he’s going to do the rest of this month. We have been preaching, visiting the homes of people too sick to come to church, developing programs for Bible studies, teaching Sunday School to young children, and ministering to the widows in the congregation.
Let’s go, Cote d’Ivoire!
