-When Sam, one of our African housemates asked me about the dictionary. “Have you heard of Merriam-Webster?”. Yes, I replied. I asked him if he had that dictionary. “No, no” he said with a chuckle. He smiled, and then said, “But I’ve seen it, and it’s a great dictionary!”
-When the neighborhood children stood in our tent at the beginning of children’s ministry time. We all held hands and sang a song that loosely translates to: “Jesus shed his blood for me. Jesus shed his blood for me! So I will worship him with my life!” So many little faces singing out the most beautiful truth, singing out, “Jesus shed his blood for me!”
-When I received a call from my squad mentor in the states. It’d been a long, tiresome day and I felt flat. I missed my community from back home, and I was tired from pouring myself out so consistently. She encouraged me personally and as a leader. I sat and listened from the squatty potty hut because it has the most semblance of privacy in my Malawian home, and cried. Sometimes, you just need someone to tell you the good they see in you.
-When I sat at a peak of Mount Mulanje with dust-caked skin and our contact read Psalm 63 out loud. It’s one that’s dear to my heart. As he read “I long for you Lord in a dry and weary land”, my eyes became wet. I wasn’t sad or exhausted, but I was filled with longing for more of this God of peace. I listened to the animal sounds of the forest and looked out across the vista below me and remembered the faithfulness of my God.
-When I sat outside making egg puns with my teammate Zach. It started out with me encouraging him that he was cooking them “egg-zach”tly perfect. I was cracking myself up making yolkity-yolks. When I asked him if he had illegally harvested our dinner resources—that is, if he had poached the eggs—I lost it. I literally started crying because I was laughing so hard at my own jokes.
-When I said good-bye to my Malawian 3-5 year old students. They ran up to me and clobbered my body in the best sort of way. Lots of little arms all wrapped up together around my neck and my arms. Them clinging to me, me clinging to them. Trying to soak up their sweet giggles and smells and voices and looks in hopes of storing them up in my heart. I spun them around and told them each “Zikomo Cambini” —Thank you very much — Gave them a big hug, and cried.
