I'm Home!!!

It was time to say goodbye to my family. I had been dreading this moment all year, but now that it is here it seems surreal. I could just be leaving to visit N'djamena or Moundou, surely I am coming back. I hugged all my kids and my dad and mom. They prayed that I would travel safely. I didn't cry. I still haven't.

The plane trip back was long. 35ish hours in airports and airplanes, not counting the 7 hour bus ride I had to take from the capital. But I was pumped. Randomly I would start dancing out of sheer joy. It didn't matter if I was standing in customs lines or waiting to board an airplane. When I reached D.C. I was greeting everyone I met with big smiles and "Good Morning!" I was so happy I was dancing and the security officer told me, "You don't look like you just got off a plane."I wonder that I didn't drive people crazy, I was talking to almost everyone I met. I would ask them questions about where they were going and what they did for a living, then I would almost explode with excitement telling them that I was going home.

After descending through several hundred feet of clouds we finally touched down in Portland. My mind was blown by how green everything was and how wet it looked. When I got to baggage claim I discovered that my luggage had decided to stay in San Francisco. I guess it was hoping to get a glimpse at the Golden Gate Bridge. My Daddy picked me up and we drove to our church's fellowship hall where my mother was helping with a dinner, completely ignorant of my arrival back in the States. I sneaked in the side door behind where she was sitting and stood there waiting for her to notice. She saw me out of the corner of her eye and I don't think I've ever heard her scream that loud before! She leaped out of her chair and grabbed me and squeezed me so tight it made my back hurt. The entire room stopped eating and stared at us like we were crazy, so my mom explained that I had been gone and had come back early to surprise her.

The next few days were a flurry of surprising people. We went up to visit my sisters and along the way we stopped at different relative's houses so I could hug them. I don't think there are many things that are better than showing up, surprising people, and thus making their day happier.

Yes, I enjoyed my time in Tchad. It was awesome and I miss parts of it. (I don't really miss the heat, it's a little chilly here but I'm not sweaty all the time.) But I'm so glad to be home. I get to hug 'my' kids whenever I want. I got to meet Shiloh and play with Hozannah. I'm going to be moving up to my Grandma's house soon and then I'll be able to see my sisters all the time as well. It's good to be home. So very, very good. :)

Cake Mix

            I made a cake today. It’s a Miki style cake – the batter is dyed bright colors and arranged in a gorgeous tie-dye. I dyed the frosting with the leftover food coloring too, it’s really quite unique. While I was mixing the coloring into the frosting and combing colors to make it pretty Naomi was watching me with fascination. When I mixed red with yellow to create orange she practically squealed with delight. I asked her “Naomi, do you know what colors to mix in order to make other colors?” “No,” she answered, “you must teach me.”

            Honestly I was a little bit taken aback. I remember learning about colors and the color wheel when I was six! And here is a 39 year old woman who is amazed to find out that yellow and blue make green! Of course I gave her a quick lesson in primary and secondary colors, and she soaked up the information.

            When I work on painting I’ve had people ask me, “Where did you learn to paint? Did you study painting in school?” I laughed a little inside when they asked me that. To think I would need to go to university to paint a wall! It was ridiculous. But now I think I understand why they ask. In a society where combining colors for a desired effect is unknown, then it makes sense that they would expect me to have special schooling in order to paint a wall.

            It’s these types of things that inspired me to create a library here. And I’m so thankful now that it is open and the children will have access to all of the books that have been purchased and donated towards it. It’s been fun watching the kids come in and read, poring over the books with rapt attention. I know they are excited about it. I’m excited about it too. And I would like to extend a huge THANK YOU to everyone who donated to making this library a success. 

Musings

25 March 2015 – Give Me

"Give me bon bon." "Donne moi 100 francs."  Everywhere I go phrases like this dog my steps. People ask for things. Constantly. It's really hard to be a Nasara here. Oftentimes I get frustrated because so many people seem to talk to me only because they want something from me. If I wasn't white, which obviously means I'm rich, I would probably get ignored. I don't feel like they really want to know me as a person. I want to be seen as something more to them than just a rich white person. I want to really know them, talk with them, have a relationship with them. But they seem to see me as a potential vending machine and will do all in their power to exploit my obvious riches.

"Lord, I'm in trouble. Please fix it." "God, I need money. Please send some." Everyday - every hour - I receive requests like this. People ask me for things. Constantly. It's really hard to be God sometimes. So many times people only talk to me when they want a miracle from me. If everything is going fine for them, I get ignored. So few actually want to get to know me as their friend. I want to be so much more than just the back up plan when everything goes wrong. I want to really know them, talk with them, have a relationship with them. But they seem to just see me as a potential vending machine and get frustrated when I don't answer exactly as they expected.

25 March 2015 - Blessings

I am so blessed. So beyond blessed. I have so many friends and family who love me for inexplicable reasons. I don't know why they do, I'm not that extraordinary. I'm just me. Oftentimes I'm grumpy, selfish, or just plain mean. I'm truly a mess, far from perfect, unworthy of anybody's love and affection. And yet, they love me. They miss me. They can't wait for me to come home so we can spend time together. They send me notes full of love and encouragement. They truly value who I am. They believe in me. And because of their belief in me, because they love me, I want to become somebody who can be worthy of their love and belief. I want to change into the woman they think I am, the woman that I am not. The woman I want to be.

I realized today that as much as I am unworthy of my friends love I am also unworthy of my Savior's inexplicable love for me. I have done nothing to deserve it. I am a mess, a disaster. Yet for some reason He loves me. He loved me enough to die for me, to risk everything to give me the chance to be His. He loves me. He misses me. He can't wait to spend time with me. He sends me notes full of love and encouragement. He values me. He believes in me. And because He loves me, I want to be someone worthy of that love. I want to change into the woman He desires me to be, the woman that I am not. The woman He wants me to be. 

Air Conditioning

You would think that because it's so hot here the grayish water in the well would've absorbed some of the heat. I don't think it did. And also despite the heat, I shiver through my bucket shower, making faces at the flies and wondering if the murky water really gets me clean. I've almost convinced myself that it's cold outside, then I dry off and am hit with the heat again. I almost want to get wet again and skip the drying off part. Being wet is the only type of air conditioning there is here. Unfortunately that air conditioning doesn't last long in this heat, but it's heavenly while it lasts.

Naomi

Naomi is a strong woman. She's one of those people who has a sparkle that catches your eye and makes you smile. Here in Chad, where women have almost no rights she managed to get a divorce from her abusive husband and is now raising her four boys by herself.
She is always up for an adventure. When Charis and I decided to go to Lai for the fete, Naomi came with us and was the life of the party. I don't think she knows what it means to be embarrassed.
One of her most often repeated phrases is "We are together." Compliment her on a job well done, "We are together." Tell her a funny story, "We are together." Always. We are together.
There is just so much life in her it's amazing. She is dramatic, funny, easy to talk to and amazing. She is one person that I would love to take on a visit to America. It would be like taking a little kid into a toyland. She would be overwhelmed by everything and I'm pretty sure her vocabulary would consist of mostly awestruck 'Wows' and incredulous 'Whats'.
Oh, have I mentioned that she also has 10 languages under her belt including English, making her the perfect translator. Yep, she's superwoman. I want to be like her when I grow up.

Troubled

My eyes scan the room. I'm on a mission. I approach the bed where Dr. Mason is doing rounds. Plopping down on the other cement bedstead I am oblivious to what Dr. Mason is saying to the small group of nurses that are assisting with the rounds.  I lean forward with my camera, not really paying attention to how sick the baby might be, and ask if I can take a photo. Dr. Mason pauses in his explanation of the babies' problems, "I really don't think this one is a good one for a story. It's probably not going to make it." I pause, embarrassed, not quite comprehending what he's saying. The med student accompanying him on rounds tells me plainly, "The baby is too sick. It's going to die." I look at the baby, really look at her. She doesn't look that sick. She doesn't look like she's about ready to give up. Her breath though rattles in her chest. And suddenly I'm angry. Why does this baby have to die? She's so beautiful. So perfect. It's not her fault that she lives in a country ridden with malarial mosquitoes. She shouldn't have to die simply because she was born here in this messed up world. She's not even old enough to know that she's alive. And now she's going to die. And her mamma, her poor mamma, won't have a baby to hug and cuddle anymore. I wonder how many other losses her mom has experienced. How many miscarriages? How many of her children have succumbed to malaria? Or typhoid? Or any of the myriad of diseases that this country is cursed with? How many will? Will she end up like the grandma who came in with a prolapsed uterus, who had been pregnant 13 times, but only had one child living? Who elected to have the surgery that would close up her vagina making it impossible to ever have sex again because it was something she'd always been forced to do?

It's these things that make it so difficult here. It's not the dirt or the heat. It's not the food or the sickness. It's not even the distance from family and friends or the poverty I see everyday. It's the dejected look on the mother's face when there's nothing more you can do for her child who is dying of a preventable disease. It's the emotional drain you experience everyday when you see the way that the women are undervalued and abused. It's the knowledge that there is only so much you can do to fix the problems that are destroying this planet. 

Downward Slope

            I’m a little over halfway through my time here. As Kim would put it, “You’re on the downward slope now.” And maybe because I am, I should be focusing solely on what I’m doing here. But I’m not. I’m constantly catching myself dreaming about going home. About wrapping my Daddy and Mommy up in ginormous bear hugs. About scooping up Christian & Zoe and being able to tell them in person that I love them SOOOOO much! About meeting my new niece for the first time and telling her who I am.

            Yes, I’m counting down the days until I get back home.

            I’ve actually been counting them down since I first got here.

            I know I’m in Africa, I should be thrilled. And I am.

            But I miss my people, so shoot me.

            Besides, it’s possible to thoroughly enjoy being in one place even if you are longing for another, isn’t it? At least it seems to be possible for me…maybe I’m just strange. But isn’t that the type of relationship we’re supposed to have with the world as Christians? We can be living on this world and have happiness and be enjoying ourselves, but we’re also supposed to be yearning to go Home to be with God.

            I think God yearns for us to come Home too. I think he daydreams about bringing us home. About wrapping us up in His strong arms. About being able to communicate with us face to face like He did with Adam and Eve. About letting us see Him in person for the first time and helping us understand everything about who He is.

            Yes, He is counting down the days until He can bring us home.

            He’s actually been counting them down since Adam and Eve first sinned.

            I know He is in Heaven where everything should be perfect.

            But He misses His people, so it’s not.