I Go Back To The House For A Book
I turn around on the gravel
and go back to the house for a book,
something to read at the doctor's office,
and while I am inside, running the finger
of inquisition along a shelf,
another me that did not bother
to go back to the house for a book
heads out on his own,
rolls down the driveway,
and swings left toward town,
a ghost in his ghost car,
another knot in the string of time,
a good three minutes ahead of me —
a spacing that will now continue
for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I think I see him
a few people in front of me on a line
or getting up from a table
to leave the restaurant just before I do,
slipping into his coat on the way out the door.
But there is no catching him,
no way to slow him down
and put us back in synch,
unless one day he decides to go back
to the house for something,
but I cannot imagine
for the life of me what that might be.
He is out there always before me,
blazing my trail, invisible scout,
hound that pulls me along,
shade I am doomed to follow,
my perfect double,
only bumped an inch into the future,
and not nearly as well-versed as I
in the love poems of Ovid —
I who went back to the house
that fateful winter morning and got the book.
Billy Collins
Now I’m not an artist, but I think I’ve come to appreciate art for what it is when I recognize it. This is largely due to how my mind works, but I do have to give a small amount of credit to my art appreciation class. It’s the one class I ever feel asleep in while I was writing. I spent a large amount of time studying the professor’s facial features and considering how much she reminded me of a bird, a raven in particular. Then I would think about good ol’ Edgar Allen Poe and it was all downhill from there. But, one thing I do remember learning about is the medium. It’s what the artist chooses to create with. It’s usually written right below the title of the art: Pencil on paper, tempura on board, Ink on bamboo, just pick your poison. It establishes that what you are looking at is a representation of something through some other means. It’s a kiss, but its oil and gold leaf on a canvas. It’s a pipe, but it is not a pipe. Understand? I feel like I project most of my life through a medium, especially my words. I paint them with figurative language. Metaphors on Journal pages. Analogies over coffee tables. They are creative, and they take more time, and they are beautiful, but I’ve forgotten to process what is real first. I’ve only looked at the subject through the lens. I haven’t seen it with my naked eye. I haven’t walked around it, found its best angle, or revealed what is beneath its shadows with different types of light. I will compare my current situation to a hatching butterfly, but I won’t tell you I feel like I’m growing into myself. I’ll tell you I feel like fall leaves, but I won’t tell you I feel unstable. Because I think about the fall leaves and butterfly before I even realize I am growing and unstable. I fool myself into thinking I’m writing and talking about someone else. I need to put down the camera, the paintbrush, the pen, the words, and look at what is. I think that might be what makes a good artist, to understand before you create, and maybe to understand that you’ll always be recreating.
Holding in honesty is like trying to plan where something spills
We conjure up these boundaries and finely lay them side by side, leaving just enough space in between for what we can comfortably share. Behind the first line is what we should have told, the things that gnaw at our hearts in odd places and make us uncomfortable, things we are too embarrassed to share because of how it may make us look, the things we write down in our journals over and over again thinking that will satisfy the need to scream them. Over the second line is too much said. The deeper things we hoard away. The ones we don’t write in journals in fear of who might find them, or truly, in fear of being forced to stare at them written in our own handwriting, validating that its part of who we are. In between are the things we say; the words we can let dance across our tongues and into the ears of another with ease and composure.
But that is not real life.
It goes like a glass falling off a table: sudden, unplanned and messy; sparked by a question or rabbit-trailed thought. Landing behind lines, over lines, and into spaces and laps that we never planned for. Sharing too much and too little at the same time. Desperately trying to contain the spill, we run over with anything that will soak it in before it is seen, before it leaves stains or seeps into memory. The broken glass that it came from is always an afterthought. It is over to the left in ten pieces reflecting over its prior contents from ten different angles and in a new and much brighter light. The view is different from here, much more transparent. We tell others not to move, staring at fragility and trying to figure out how to pick up its sharp and raw pieces without causing anymore disturbance or pain. We place the big pieces aside; sometimes with intent to fix, other times knowing it is a lost cause. The small fine pieces lie still and drowning in the aftermath of the spill, too often they stay there, too small to see, but still large enough to feel. We call them consequences.
Waking up is something I’ve always had mixed feelings about.
I find the process itself to be so naturally unnatural.
Going from unconscious to conscious
being reminded of existence over and over again.
On any given morning, it happens in about a four second sequence including the following:
awake, aware, open eyes, long blink, short blink, check the time
I have this deep desire to create something beautiful.
A desire that is likely rooted in the fact that I am a woman.
But I feel as though I’m inadequate to produce anything even close to beauty,
a feeling that is likely rooted in the fact that I am still learning to embrace who I am.
I feel I am missing the necessary tools that are needed to make a masterpiece.
It’s as if the creativity I have lives split into small pieces and spread across my body.
Hiding from itself in my fingertips and in the very edges of me,
barricaded behind a fear of failure and unexplained doubt.
Trying desperately to pull together the pieces, I become fully aware of what I lack.
My words are not eloquent.
My hands are not skilled.
My mind is not sharp.
My heart is too broken.
I have nothing to offer,
I have nothing to show,
I have nothing to bring forth.
In the process of gathering, yearning, and grieving,
my heart is exposed
to myself, to things, to people,
and to an enemy’s arrows.
Easily struck,
I fall forward.
I look at the feet of the presence I’ve ignored
I stare into the eyes of this invisible maker
and in that moment I understand
I was meant to be empty handed
For all along, it is me who has been the created one.
Today I woke up rested.
I woke up in joy. Not with it, in it. I’m not quite sure if that is the right way to explain it, but like many things the true meaning gets lost in transition along the way from heart to brain to words. I didn’t even mean to, but I found myself taking in each moment separately. From the continued thankfulness of new friends that I did not expect, to my Christmas-in-a-cup coffee and morning class that was filled with somewhat inappropriate laughter, to my afternoon of dancing in and out of step with consciousness on a couch with perfect lighting and the rare feeling of home. I sat with no agenda and no worries; perfectly content staring at the rain as it hit the outside table.
It was clear in that moment that the beauty of God I occasionally become still enough to marvel at, is only a fraction of what he actually possesses. I opened my mouth to utter a silent prayer and found no words. I had nothing to say. What could possibly describe that.
Fast-forward a few hours. I move from a couch to a bigger room with more people, no rain, and less lighting. I sat in between opposites and tried to balance conversations with both of them.
Music starts.
I stand.
I like the first song.
I like the guitar part in the second song.
I don’t like the third song.
Something feels off.
I sit.
I pray.
I listen.
I pray again.
Music starts.
Some thing is very wrong.
I cannot stand.
I cannot sing.
I put my elbows on my knees, stare forward, and contemplate my week
If I were to be honest I would tell you I spent most of it in hidden frustration. Too afraid to be myself and sometimes afraid that I don’t even know what that is anyways. I walked in and out of conversations consumed with only me in mind. I spent a lot of time wondering whether I was too awkward or not. My heart jumped and ached at the sight of a passing tan colored Tacoma, but remained unmoved by the daily presence of my creator. I was consumed with memories I can’t decide if I want to keep or let go of. I toyed with the idea of settling because I’m not patient enough to let God take his time. I repeatedly talked about God’s grace and continued to wallow in shame. I tried to claim to myself I’d been a good witness when a half-drunk acquaintance noticed a difference in my character, but the truth is I was more preoccupied with the person he had referenced to than I was with the fact he was so very lost. It should have been heartbreaking. I ignored things God specifically asked me to do. I judged. I was a fool. And If were really honest, then I would tell you this isn’t even half the story.
In conclusion, I lived in blatant self-centeredness and the Christ that lives in me was over-shadowed by it. I opened my mouth to utter something that was a mix of “I’m sorry” and “I love you” but nothing came and nothing seemed fit. After five minutes, I managed to say something.
“I’ve done nothing for your Kingdom this week”
It was true. I repeated it a few times just to make sure I understood the weight of it.
I found myself walking out of the room, out of the building, and straight across campus. I sat down on the steps in the middle of campus and began to pray for every building and everyone in sight. I had a choice to either feel guilty about the week, or get up and do something about it. I guess I chose to do something. I don’t remember moving my own feet. God must have brought me there. It did not make up for what I did not do, but it was better than sulking in my failure. I’m amazed at the way God continues to mend me and at the same time break me.
I ended my day with new music, friends, and some lake Nac adventures. Lots of laughing, lots of neat pictures, and lots of stars.
I continue to lie in the wake of his blessings
But today I was aware of how unworthy I was of it all
The story will be the same tomorrow.
Immensely blessed and beyond unworthy.
All the time.
I made an army of robots
I got caught in a downpour
I loved it
I ran through the red-mudded construction zone right after it rained
I did not love that so much
I cried a little bit
I laughed a little more
I started a job
I whined to Jesus
I apologized for whining
I listened to Him
I played with old friends
I prayed for new friends
I made new friends
I painted some
I worked later than I wanted
I changed my major
I considered piercing my nose
I considered what my parents would do if I pierced my nose
I got a little bit too excited about coffee
I tried new places
I woke up early
I went to bed too late
Day 1 and 2 (Friday and Saturday)
There is so much to write and I don’t even know where to begin or even how to. It is surreal being here. My eyes have been opened to so many things in one day I can hardly take it in. I’m so excited. My heart wants to leap out of my chest. I love these children so much already. I’m so humbled. I can’t believe I am here.
This has all felt like one continuous day. Our plane ride was so long, we all tried to sleep but admitted to only getting a few hours each. It was odd to see the sun rise twice. After we landed we walked into this small airport, collected our bags and spent a few minutes of difficulty getting allowed into the country, but all was well. We then met Daniel outside. He was so excited to see us. He had so much joy radiating off of him. His spirit screamed of the love of Christ. He made me cry. We then got into two vehicles. Our driver was named Ezekiel. The driving should have given me multiple heart attacks. Honking and passing with no room to pass and almost having head on collisions, literally every minute. I was too preoccupied with my surroundings to care about the fact I was literally dodging death every few seconds. We drove three hours and then hit an accident. It was awful, and chaotic. I thought we would never get out of that mess, but somehow we did. We ate lunch at a place called Mr. Biggs, some form of a fast food place, we weren’t really sure. The electricity cut off and on a few times when we were there, I walked in and one of our team saw a girl sitting on the floor chopping cucumbers in the back. We all played it safe and got the “chicken burger.” Definitely the most interesting chicken sandwich we’ve ever eaten.
About 20 minutes more of driving and we made it to Lakoja, the place where we were going to do our first clinic, a clinic for an orphanage of babies and toddlers. We arrived and the three doctors set up upstairs and then we were all given jobs, three went upstairs to assist the doctors and Tiffany and I were told to entertain and hold the babies while the Nannies who take care of them were upstairs getting them each to doctors and make sure the sea of toddlers didn’t crawl upstairs. Everything was fast pace; we were already a little off schedule. I felt lost for a few seconds trying to figure out exactly what I was supposed to do, trying to think of a list of things I could do and how to organize it. I just stared at all these little faces, some laughing, some playing, all with runny noses. Then a little girl came up and pulled at my side, she just wanted to be near me. She attached herself to my leg. At that moment I realized my time here was not just going to be divided up into a large number of tasks that I needed to complete. Some of it was just going to be time spent asking names, or holding unknown hands, or picking up crying little ones. I am here to serve, but I’m here to love as well—and love doesn’t always come hand in hand with helping someone, or a conversation, sometimes it comes with just being present. Being available to be held onto. That little girl that clung to my side is named Anita.
I walked around with here and over to a little girl who was crying some big crocodile tears, I just HAD to pick her up. Anita (who was 5 and spoke a little bit of English) said her name was Iku. I walked around with them both smiling and giggling and then sat down on the ground at the base of the stairs next to some nannies holding some babies. Another older girl (about 7) peeked around the corner and smiled at me. She’s an Albino. Her name is Oma. She walked over and sat next to me. I pulled out the guitar we brought and played on it, they laughed and played with the strings. I put it up after a little while and pulled out my camera and took some pictures. They LOVED the camera. They loved looking at their pictures after I took them. I let them have the camera and showed them how to take pictures. Then when I was turned the other way Oma reached out and felt my hair and let it run through her hands, I turned around and she looked at me like she had done something wrong. I smiled and took my hair out of the ponytail it was in. She smiled, fell into my arms and played with my hair.
A little while later I walked outside to the covered area. It was cooler out there than inside because it was raining. I sat next to a girl maybe the same age as me, possibly a little bit older. She was holding a baby that I had seen her nurse earlier. No one really spoke English so I did not expect to be able to talk to her but I sat down next to her anyways and smiled and played with her baby. She asked in good English how long we were staying. Surprised, I answered and then asked her how she knew English. She said she learned it at school. I asked her How she came here to the Lakoja orphanage and she said “the story is long” and looked away. Then she took a breath and said that she dropped out of school when she found out she was pregnant. I looked over at the little boy on the ragged blanket next to her chewing on his little foot. I asked what her name was, she said Khadijat and the little boys name is Immanuel, because he was born on Christmas. She asked me questions about America, about my family, I showed her pictures and she laughed and smiled and kept asking if every girl that came up on the little screen was my sister. She saw the guitar and asked me to teach her something. I taught her a note and then she said she really wants to learn how to play one day. She made me play some more for her. Before I knew it it was time to leave. She told me she wished I could stay for a long time. My heart just about shattered. I wanted to get to know her more. I loved her already. I wanted to spend more time with her, hear the rest of her story, tell her my heart. We left so soon. We hardly spent a few hours there.
We then loaded up to the vans again to leave Lakoja and head to Otutulu. I turned around to tell Anita and Oma goodbye and then Daniel asked if we had room to take them to the sister orphanage in Otutulu with us. I said of course. So Oma took the backseat with Lauren and Briani and a little baby we brought with us as well, named Esther. And Anita sat in my lap in the front seat. She fell asleep for the first hour then we had to pull over on the side of the road because one of the cars overheated (the side of the Nigerian highway is not exactly the safest place to be at dusk) we hurried and tried to fix things, but ended up having to pile all 13 of us into a 7 passenger van… with our luggage. We drove for another hour and a half and then came to this dirt road (well everything’s kind of a dirt road) but this one looked like something you would go extreme four wheeling on. It was raining and starting to get muddy. We made it about 5 minutes down the dark, bumpy road; all of us flinging all around the car, hitting our heads on the ceiling and the windows... and each other. The baby started to cry uncontrollably. She was hungry. My a miracle from the Lord we somehow found her bottle in the crammed van. Tiffany fed her, trying to hold her head from hitting the sides of the van because we were still on that awful road. Then ofcourse, the bottle flung out of her hands in one of the big drops, She handed the baby to me so she could look for the bottle. The baby started screaming again. I held her close—basically because I had no other option… she was nestled into my chest in between my backpack in my lap and me. Tiffany handed me the bottle when she found it. She finished it and then I guess the bumpy car ride hit her right then and she threw up all over me. I laughed, (I had already had baby pee on me from that morning) as long as she felt better I was happy.
After that, finally we made it to the village. It was already late, but all the kids came out to carry our luggage for us anyways. We ate dinner (It was about 9:30) and then Dearing and Lauren and I went ot go see Crystel—a long term missionary here. She was very very quiet but still had a great spirit about her. Very strong. She has formally adopted two kids from here, Natalie and Tom. And I think she is in the process of adopting another two boys. She loves them so much, you can see it in her face and how she looks at them. Dearing said she has been there a long time. I think long term around nine years or more. We were so exhausted. We walked back to where we were staying, set up our mosquito nets, and slept.
Day 3 (Sunday)
This morning we woke up to goats and the sound of children brushing their teeth outside our window. I woke up laughing. Church was today. Lauren and I sang and played guitar. Dearing spoke. To hear them sing their songs was so beautiful. Everything is so different here. So simple. We took the Lords supper with a few of them and then sang a hymn in their language. Their voices are incredible. Its incredible hearing the sound of their voices, and singing a language I don’t know, but knowing that we are connected, we are a brothers and sisters, singing to the same great God. We had lunch and then unpacked the meds and set up the pharmacy. After that we ran around with the children for a bit. I love running with them and laughing and picking up the wandering babies crying. They love taking pictures. I then went to go journal some in our living quarters, about five minutes later a white woman came in a nd asked if she could use our bathroom. I said of course. Her face had so much joy. I knew she knew the Lord as soon as I looked at her. She had a little black boy with her. She came out and I asked her name and she said Christy. I asked what she was here for and she said that she and her husband are volunteer missionaries in Anyigba (the next village) 5 months a year, and a few years ago M.O.M (Ministry of Mercy, the orphanage) brought them this little boy to take care of and he stays with them every time they come. And they just finished formally adopting him. They came so he could have a blessing “send-off party” She came along and they were going back to the states on Tuesday. She then looked down and saw my journal and said keep writing down every detail, I told her I was and that this was my first time overseas. She said “Praise God, I will be praying for you” I told her thank you and that I would pray for her as well.
Later I was walking outside and saw everyone gathering the children. I picked up a crying little boy who was left sitting in the dirt a ways away and walked over and sat down. They sat us down next to Christy. Lauren met her. They started the ceremony. Daniel got up and spoke about how much he loves these kids and that it is such a joy when one is adopted and he brought Christy and the boy up. He said a prayer over them. Then he said he was excited to see the boy go to a God loving family. Then he said they do not charge any money for adoption. They pay all the fees and government costs, they don’t want money to get in the way. They only ask that the family come to visit and get to know them and the children. He continued on saying more than adoption, they want the child to know the Lord and make sure the families will teach them to love God. I was so moved by that. This place has nothing, yet they do all this, Daniel loves them like they are his own. Christy said a few word about getting to know and love the boy and these people, then a few of the nannies got up and gave advice to the little boy, one nanny got up, an older albino woman, and said that she prays he will find the Lord and love and live his life for Him alone, even when life get hard and not forget to praise God when life is good. A few men prayed over him, some were so excited and moved that they cried over him, and then presented him with an Igala (tribal language) bible. It was such an incredible thing to watch. I felt God right there. I cannot explain it. He was there, surrounding this group, sitting within us on those wooden benches out in the heat of the day.
After the ceremony about half the team went on a tour of the cashew plantation. Little did we know this was quite the journey. Hiking up a mountain with lots of trees and very, very tall elephant grass that cut our arms and faces. We spent most of the time hoping that we didn’t step on a black mamba. We went up the mountain and around it (about a three mile hike) when we got back we were exhausted.
We showered and then ate dinner and Daniel came and spoke to us about how M.O.M. got started. His mom, Esther, was always taking care of the less fortunate and disabled, giving them food and baths, then letting them stay in the house when they needed. When his mom passed she wanted to make sure the few she watched over were taken care of and kept safe. He kept that promise and then opened up his heart for me, first just disabled kids, then motherless babies began to come and they just couldn’t turn them away. So it became and orphanage, the nannies are albinos and others who need help and have been given a place to stay here and help in return. He asked if we had any questions. Before I could open my mouth, Lauren asked what I was going to, “What is your biggest need?” he said “Daily food.” My heart dropped. He said that God always provides, but it is a challenge. One time his wife came to him on a Sunday night and said that they only had enough food for that nights dinner and the next day but that was it. . He told her that it was more than enough, for it was more than what they needed for today. I was so moved by his statement—not because I was sad or mad that I have more than enough food everyday, but because he has the faith I wish I had. Raw, true, day by day faith. He trusts the Lord.
He then shared that medical care is another need. He began to tell us a story about how he had to be a midwife on Christmas night. A girl at the Lakoja orphanage went into labor and didn’t tell anyone. She was new there, her father had kicked her out of his house when she had become pregnant. He rushed over there in the middle of the night when her labor got intense and then birthed the baby (he had never done it before) but after the baby came, she was uncontrollably bleeding and he did not know what to do. He (by the grace of God!) got a hold of a doctor from the state on his cell phone and the doctor guided him through what to do. He pressed on her abdomen for a half hour to stop the bleeding.
Then it hit me. He was talking about Khadijat. That was her story. I couldn’t believe it. I wished to see her again. My heart just ached at the fact I wouldn’t see her again.
It is amazing how this place runs. They have nothing, but are so rich in joy. I look around and these beautiful kids and just wish I could give them the world, but I feel like they have already given me more than I could ever give back.
Day 4 (Monday)
*Ok, at this point I ran out of time to sit and write full paragraphs, so these are just random sentences of information from the day.
First day of the clinic, awaken by goats again. Up and ready at 6.
Didn’t really sleep very well, Lauren and I heard bugs and mice in the room all night
Each doctor set up at a little table outside
Woman and her son with malaria walked six hours to see us
I shared Christ with the Villagers; some were already believers, and some came to know Christ for the first time. I wish I had more time to get to know the villagers. It was hard for me to share and then have to go keep organizing and doing my job, I wanted to sit down and talk with them for hours about what I had shared and about their lives.
Being one little white girl trying to organize seventy people who will do anything to see the doctor and don’t speak your language is difficult, even with a translator.
Learning how to be assertive and firm. Realizing I had more leadership capabilities than I thought. It was hard to be firm with the villagers. Struggled because I really just wanted to be compassionate. God told me that night that the best way I was going to show love and serve them in those moments is to do my job and do what we came to do.
Amneta, a young girl whose skin was peeling off. She caught my attention that morning in the crowd of villagers. She looked really frail, and just exhausted. My heart went out to her. I got her to the doctor quickly. I heard him say that this skin issue was because she had a kidney problem and that she needed to get to a hospital, and that that was her only hope. I was heartbroken.
I found Daniel and told him to translate that I was going to pray over her. I kneeled down and laid my hands on her and prayed the hardest I have ever prayed. I lost it in the middle of the prayer. I was so overwhelmed. She couldn’t understand my words but I know she felt the Lord. We have a God who is bigger than sickness. We have a God who is our healer. But above all, we have a God who is sovereign. His will is perfect. I begged and pleaded in my prayer for Her to know the Lord and for Him to heal her, and as hard as it was, I also prayed that his will be done whatever the outcome was, and that above all He would be glorified.
Playing with the children before dinner. Running around with them, taking pictures and loving on them.
A few of the over 200 kids there
Peter, Esther, Iku, Atede, Elisabeth, Moses, Onota, Micha, Ojima, Ruth, Spencer, Abigail, Ruth, Matthew, Anita, Safia, Oma, Blessing
All the children were seen by the doctors today. I wondered if we really made a big difference. And then as I was falling asleep Lauren said “do you here that” I asked “what” and she said “They aren’t coughing and crying like they were last night”
I knew we had.
Day 5 (Tuesday)
Second day of clinic at Otutulu.
Lauren and I heard mice in the room all night. It poured rain all night and was really loud, but such a neat way to fall asleep.
Read in Romans 10:9-15 today
verses 14 and 15... the questions that Paul asks, I feel like God teaches me that way, asking obvious questions and leading me to a point of understanding... we as believes have a responsibility to share this incredible gift. If not us then who?
God gave me energy today. It was so fast pace. Trying to get everyone seen by the doctor.
I cleaned out some wounds today. A gruesome chunk out of a woman’s ankle and a burn on another woman’s thigh.
I sat down with the nannies and children and let them look at pictures from America, got to know them as best we could with the language barrier.
My little buddy peter. I wish I could take him home. No matter where I am on the compound, he finds me and curls his little hand around me pinky and just walks with me. (He is the one in the middle.)
God brought me so much joy through just being with these people and children today. I love them all so much! I don't want to leave tomorrow.
Day 6 (Wednesday)
Traveled to the next town, Anyigba and conducted a clinic there at a church building
Burned my hand at lunch with boiling water, it immediately blistered. Very painful.
Listened to the Dr. Saul and Dr. Vernon talk about their families and their daughters and relying on the Lord to provide in all things throughout their lives. Their stories were incredible. They have such strong faith.
Isaac, the man who ran the bible school, drove us to the local “pharmacy” to try to find some extra bandage for my hand and some medicines that we were running low on (aka: a open little three walled hut in the market that was barely big enough to fit three people, they had medicine in old looking boxes stacked up from the floor to the tin ceiling) Issac tells me while we are in the car that “We must get out of our environments to learn. You may find yourself learning more in a week here than all the years you have spent at home in the states” He is right.
God taught me today that I am here to HELP THE BODY. His body.
I am here to help some of my brother’s and sister’s from the other side of the world with their immediate physical needs. It seems simple, but its just so incredible to me. The fact that His word is being spread and people are coming to know Him more and more here is awesome! We hear missions and think 'sharing with someone who has never heard…' which we have done and that’s what we should do, but the other part is being an encouragement to those already in the body. I read in Galatians 6:9-10 “Let us not become weary in dong good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up, Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, ESPECIALLY to those who are in the FAMILY OF BELEIVERS” This brings so much glory to God!
Day 7 (Thursday)
Woke up to the early morning call to prayer from the mosque. Immediately began to pray for those people. It was a weird to pray and then at the same time hear them pray to a non-existent god. It felt so dark.
This morning in our clinic I shared a devotion. I got nervous and didn’t say what I wanted to, I made it quick and was not very bold. I didn’t let God speak through me like he could have. I was so discouraged, but instead of continuing to dwell in my failure and let Satan attack me, I decided to immediately pray and ask God to just speak through me to the next group. I shared a passage from Daniel with them. When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego tell the king “our God can save us from the fire, BUT EVEN IF HE DOES NOT, He is still our God and we will not serve another”
I told them that God is capable of healing, but even if he doesn’t, he is still worth our praise and our lives because he is God. I felt the Lord speak through me. It was incredible and humbling. We serve SUCH AN INCREDIBLE GOD!
The hardest part about today was turning people away. We didn’t have time to see them. I hated telling them no.
We had dinner at Isaacs house and got to meet his family. Beautiful family.
That night, against my better judgment, I attempted to play guitar with my bandaged hand and me, Lauren, Briani, and Tiffany had a late night worship session. I ended up making my hand bleed, but it was worth it. It was a beautiful way to fall asleep. Singing to our awesome God!! None but Jesus, How Deep the Fathers Love, Everlasting…
Day 8 (Friday)
Got in a van and drove the long 5 hour drive back to Abuja. We were so exhausted today. I think the entire week hit us about twenty minutes into the drive.
We stopped on the side of the road to go to the bathroom, to our luxury, instead of just a bush, we found an abandoned building to pee in! That was quite the experience; it involved lots of laughter.
Went to a little market just for a little more than an hour and bought a few things. Our translator helped us bargain things down. It was really fun. Briani and I teamed up and bartered prices way down in this one shop. We were so tired we hardly had the energy to look around.
We ate dinner at a hotel that night. We took our driver in to eat with us. It was probably the nicest meal he has ever had. After realizing that, it was hard to finish eating.
On the way to the missionary house we were staying at in Abuja, I was in the very back seat on the left. We got to this round about part, and the driving was insane. I was looking at this car beside us that almost hit us and another one in front that I thought we might hit and I turned to Tiffany and said “I feel like were about to get hit right now---” And before I finished saying “now” we got hit from behind on my side of the car. We flung forward. The driver went out to check the vehicle then just got back in and kept driving, apparently as long as we still had a back bumper there was no reason to do anything… but the car made a funny sound after that.
The missionary house was nice. We went to bed as soon as we got back. We were so tired, but I really did not want to leave in the morning. We hadn’t been here long enough.
Day 9 (Saturday)
Ate breakfast at the missionary house with two older missionary couples. We asked them questions about living here. He was very intense when he spoke, almost cynical. We asked if it was hard living here because there have been a lot of safety issues he responded with “Its worth it, you think it’s a sacrifice but you live your boring, predictable, lives over in America with all the spiritual deadness. We would much rather be here”
I held me tongue but I really wish I hadn’t. He is right, life is more predictable and steady there... and yes there is spiritual deadness, but I wanted to look at him and say …Isn’t that all the more reason to be there? There is a mission to fulfill there just as much as there is here. Where you are makes no difference to the fact that people everywhere need Christ…
Don’t get me wrong, I DESIRE to spend more time in another country and if missions is where I am called I am MORE THAN WILLING, but his comment was insulting. I’m in the states because that’s where God has me. Its my field for now. I don’t think that America’s culture makes it any less of a mission field. I don’t think that it is a lost cause, and I don’t think God has turned his back on it just yet, so why in the world would I?
Hearing his comments really drove my heart into a deeper passion and ache to share with those around me at home. Maybe this was God’s way of opening my eyes even more?
We got in the van after breakfast and finally made it to the airport. We were in route for twenty-four hours and after quite a few delays we finally made it home in the early Sunday morning hours. God is so good. He taught me so much. If I can help it, I hope I never take another trip that is so short. I was nowhere near ready to leave.
