“White Skin, Ivorian Spirit”
That’s the title our translator, Michael, has granted me with this month. He grew up here in Gagnoa. Though my skin is whiter than my toothpaste these days, my soul is very clearly where its meant to be. Michael seems to have noticed, and told me if he was a seamstress, he’d made me a t-shirt that said “White skin, Ivorian spirit.” When he first told me this, I laughed and we carried on with conversation, but I was again reminded of my love for this place, and how it all began. Story time!
In September of 2013, I sat behind my friend Zoe in English class. We were seniors, I had recently switched churches and we attended youth group together. We had been good friends in school, Zoe and her boyfriend had been two of my greatest friends in the whole building, and our lunch table, as weird of a group as it was, was my little family. I remember appreciating Zoe even more because we ate lunch together in the cafeteria, a place that I previously avoided at all costs. So, Zoe was near and dear to me, and we loved English class because Mrs. Grassman was a gem, and we got to sit together. It was a great set up. The day after our youth pastor announced that our Senior class in the youth group was presented with the opportunity to travel to Senegal, Africa, for a mission trip, I’d felt a tug in my heart to go. I recalled that a year or two prior, Zoe had shown a love for Africa when she collected a few hundred pairs of flip flops and sent them to an organization, where she later discovered put shoes on every child that needed a pair, down to the exact number and size. I remember Zoe’s adoration for Africa and her desire to go herself, and when she turned around in her desk to mention Pastor Greg’s announcement to me, I asked her what she thought if I joined the team going. Her eyes sparkled as she showed her excitement, and that was the beginning of my interest in going to Africa.
Zoe and I fundraised together, packed together, figured out shots and malaria meds together, we were so excited. We went with a group of almost 20, only four girls in total going, plus Mama Kiddle. I remember we arrived in our first city late in the evening, and we gratefully collapsed under mosquito nets and were asleep instantly. What I woke to will forever be one of my favorite memories. Zoe and I were in a bedroom together, with a window that looked out into a school yard. We were woken up at the same time by the sound of children laughing and playing together. She rolled over, looked at me, and we both broke out into huge dorky smiles, eyes full of excitement. We were in Africa.
That month was one of the greatest times of my life. We traveled all over Senegal, we got to build relationships with lots of wonderful people, we got to meet some incredible pastors who risked losing relationships with their friends and families to preach the gospel of Jesus. We saw that the mosques were locked up and that most people had lost faith in Islam. We got to tell so many people about Jesus, we got to pray and bring hope to villages that had never heard of Jesus name before, and my heart changed.
I’d not always chosen the right things in high school, and I’ll be the first to admit that I made a lot of poor decisions, but my journey to Africa confirmed my desire to follow Jesus and leave the things of this world behind. It was not an easy thing, I had to work hard to regain the trust I’d broken with a lot of people, and I still messed up, but my attitude changed, and I returned to the states knowing that it would not be the last time I stepped foot on African soil. My heart burned to return, missions in Africa became my after-high-school goal, and I was determined.
Flash forward, I met Freddy and fell in love with him, and wasn’t sure how I was going to return to Africa and balance that with the demands that the Army carry. We ran into a few speed bumps, but God introduced me to the World Race, and His timing was perfect, and just after we got engaged, I left. Three months after leaving, I stepped off the plane in Ethiopia and tears sprang into my eyes. I was too tired to cry and our layover was very short, before we boarded another plane to fly to the Ivory Coast, but my heart was full. Even when a wasp stung me on the plane, I was thankful to be back where my heart had discovered it’s passion for the gospel.
This month in Cote d’Ivoire has been far different than my time in Senegal. I stared into the eyes of a girl who’s soul was dead, a demon living inside her. I fought in a way I never expected to fight, spiritual warfare was always something I heard and read about, never expected to find myself in the midst of it. I never expected to be given the authority to command a demon to flee in Jesus’ name. I didn’t expect to be preaching in churches filled with people ready to listen. I didn’t expect to get a parasite that would knock me out of commission for a week or so. I didn’t expect a lot of things, but here is what I did expect; I expected my team to fight for each other, and after last month’s struggles, we did. We banned together and fought for each other and though team changes are coming up in a week, we won the war for each other and we will always be thankful for Kindred B.O.W (band of warriors, isn’t that ironic?) I expected for the Kingdom of God to be brought, and it is here! I expected people to accept Jesus, and they have. I expected revival, and it came. I expected radical joy, and it’s here. So, I’m thankful for the unexpected, I’m thankful for the bumps, the mistakes, the lessons learned, and I’m so thankful for this race that I am on, a race that extends much longer than eleven months.
