Ever since Africa God and I have been on slightly different terms. Being over there was so simple- everything was for a purpose: to serve and bring glory to God. Being back though, that's different. It's the same purpose, but it's not simple. Or actually, it IS simple, but trying to live the simple amongst the chaos is the challenge.

I didn't see people die in Africa-- not physically that is. I saw a couple people make a decision to follow Jesus, and I saw more than a few people who were actually following Him, mind, body, and soul. I answered questions about God and Jesus and Christianity...to the best of my ability. I tried to remember that I was just planting seeds and that maybe it wasn't up to me to see those seeds grow.

I didn't camp out or go without showering for a super long time; I had a week of feeling super dirty but the other three were spent in a house in Windhoek, the capitol city. There was a girl working in the house, Jenet, and she was a laundry fiend. Literally-- she would find the clothes you hid in your suitcase and wash them, regardless of whether or not they were already clean. More than once I went without pj pants because of Jenet's tireless efforts. I still battle feelings of guilt for being so blessed on the trip; people ask about where we stayed and how hard it was, but in all honesty that was not the hard part. I don't know why we were so fortunate. God knew what he was doing though: the lady who owned the house really needed the funds we paid her as her family deals with her divorce right now, and Jenet was able to build her own room onto her mom's place with the money she made working those 3 weeks.

I don't know how fruitful our time in the high schools were, because one week did not seem like enough time to break down all of their barriers or misconceptions. There are boys' faces that are burned in my memory- boys who seemed so fiercely determined to be different, to change, to not fall walk down the same path they've seen so many fall on. My heart yearns to help them and be with them, to encourage them and lift them up. I will never forget the look on one young man's face when he asked how much a plane ticket to America was, and I will never forget the look that settled afterward: a steely resolve to make his dream of going somewhere a reality. I had girls that I shared my story with, but I wish I could've glorified God more in it. It felt wonderful to tell them my struggles and answer their questions with real life experiences and to see that the same issues I face(d) they also go through, just like girls in America. Sometimes I doubt though, and I need God's peace that the time was more than just slumber-party talk. It tore my heart up to leave them there; to know that they don't get to fly away and escape. To know that they are just freshmen in high school, and that by the end of their 4 years half of them will have gotten pregnant or married or abused, or all three. To know that just a handful of them will graduate...it makes me want to cry and fight for them at the same time.

These kids, along with the ones from the orphanage we spent time at, are the faces that Africa has become for me. There was a little boy I held for awhile at the orphanage in the slums area who couldn't decide if he wanted to sleep or not. He would go back and forth between holding onto me and then pulling himself out of sleep right before it hit him, at which point he would lift his head up and look around a little before finally putting it back down. I was walking around and rocking him, and it hit me how innocent he was. There I was, a complete stranger, but did he care? No. All he cared about what that I was a safe place for him-- I was a source of love and comfort- something he does not and will not get enough of. I started praying on the verge of tears for the tiny baby that will grow into a man someday- that he would be strong and brave and seek God with all his heart and being- all the while knowing that I would not see this happen and that I'm just gonna have to trust God will do this. It was at that point I felt my heart stretch to it's breaking point.

There were good times too, a lot of them. If you ask me I'll probably sum up a couple for you, but it's hard to know what to say and to who; oftentimes I opt to not say anything instead of downplaying something that meant a lot to me. Trying to find the right words to describe things is difficult as well, so bear with me if I seem cliche or short with an answer, it's not for the reasons you may think.

I'll continue to process, but since I'm on God's time, it may take awhile.