A Good Read

It's almost over.

I am trying to get mentally prepared to transition from this season of life into the next. Some parts of me feel ready. I am ready for mom's hugs, coffee dates with my girls, and the freedom to walk outside independently.

However, I find it quite hard to imagine leaving this place in five days.

Mama Sue sent me a beautiful scrapbooked card a couple of weeks ago encouraging me to "finish strong". To quote my ever inspirational mother: "This experience represents a chapter, maybe a couple of chapters, in your life and I know that looking back, you will want it to be a good read". I can confidently assure her that it will be. I don't have regrets. I have learned, grown, served, loved, cried, laughed, worked, and danced hard. My heart is different. I know I view the world differently. The way I look at people is different.

I think that, like so many people, I came to Africa desiring to change the world. It would be incredibly hard to leave this place if I still felt that my calling was to change the world by being a nurse in Africa. I feel like it is my calling to change the world by loving people. By serving people that others don't want to serve. By showing people that they are important. My showing them that God wants to use their brokenness for healing.

I walked into ward church today and learned that last night, Greg drank from a bottle. An insignificant stride by most standards, but a major accomplishment for a baby in his condition. There is a small chance that a local surgeon may be able to help Greg using a technique that has been successful for him in the past. There is a chance that Greg is going to get his miracle. There is a massive army of people praying for this little baby all over the world. Today Marion (Greg's mama) became part of "team Greg” which is outwardly identified by a light blue string tied around our ankle. Inwardly, it means we are praying for our baby. Whatever the outcome in Greg's life, Marion has learned that we love her. People she has never met love her baby.

Prince sat on my lap today. He was wavering between sleep and wakefulness during the sermon. I would call Prince more of a princess. He screams relentlessly anytime his dressings are changed, or comes near him in a vaguely objectionable fashion. He demands "stickas" for his forehead on a regular basis. He started crying in church today because he was thirsty. But I have this theory that children whose physical needs have not been consistently met develop an obsessive concern with their physical state. Even the most attentive of Liberian parents would be hard-pressed to consistently meet the needs of their children. Therefore, I am left not blaming Prince for what we would call at home, whiny neediness. I instead have immense compassion for it. And, today as he laid against me and wrapped my arms around him, and rested his head on my chest, drifting slowly into a peaceful state, I felt nothing but love for him. I stroked his burn-scarred hands and was reminded of how God is so capable of using our imperfections. Of how God loves us past our imperfections.

This is what Africa has been for me. A realization and understanding of God in a greater way. Life lessons that have nothing to do with a geographical location. A chance to see people in a completely authentic way.

It makes going home exciting. Because, I am still me. I will take this part of me with me. And I cannot wait to see how it will be used in the rest of my world.