Listening to "Clumsy Card House" by Blue October
I'm back at school. I have let myself fall into old patterns. Being in Africa has taught me so much. Since I have been back I have glazed over my experience with a top heavy coat of Americanism. I don't why.
Maybe because Africa was so inconvenient?
Maybe because the whole month I felt out of place on my World Race group?
Maybe I'm just making up excuses for seeking comfort in materials and not God.
There was something about life in South Africa that has caused me to see that life is life everywhere. Sounds simple right? I have tried to live a "sweat-free" life (not buying clothes that were made in sweatshops, which is almost everything) by shopping at thrift stores where the proceeds go to the community.
When I got back the first thing I wanted to do was shop at a retail store. And I did. Again, I don't know why. All I know is now I feel sick about it.
I have grown a respect for missions in the United States. I repeatedly refuted the idea of missions in the States. I thought it was an excuse for people to stay in middle class comfort, and it is for some people. But one of the volunteers at the Beam Africa drop center asked, "Why do you come all the way across the World to do a mission trip?"
Jesus said, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."
While we are all called to minister to the poor, widow, and orphans, we also need to minister the rich. It sounds pretty much impossible for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.
While I'm here in school, I can see myself staying in the States longer for going to Med school. However, it's still in the air. I'm not in no hurry nor really care to go on the World Race. I hate how short term the mission trips are. I'd rather invest a year in one country than travel to 11 countries spending a month in each.
Even though I'm ok with doing missions in the U.S. because the people here are just as broken as in Africa,
I miss all those little faces.
I miss hearing my name being pronounced, "Tah-ne-sha".
I miss the simpleness of life.
I miss seeing the beautiful squatter camps.
I miss hearing Sutu and Aafricans.
I miss hearing the kids laughter and quizzical stares when they hear me speak Spanish.
I miss Mike and Jeanine, the awesome missionaries from Colorado.
I miss the "kitchen ladies" San Maria and Margaret.
I miss Carmen, our crazy-awesome housemate.
I miss Sandra and how she taught me how to cut a whole chicken. I miss her precious son Amu and nephew Katlego.
I miss Kele buh hele, Blessing, Lebo, both Siya's, Simon, Fortune, Pumzele, Beyonce, Marthati, girl Katlego, Shaunalee, Shaunaday, Leafy, Ishmael, and plenty of other fantastic kids.
I'm tired of falling in love with these people, leaving, and then some how fitting myself back into American society.
I know this blog is jumping everywhere, but this is what my mind is doing. This is what I have been physically doing since my first mission trip in 2010. While I'm not tired of jumping, I wish I can go back to Africa and jump with all those kids.
My life is measured by love. I don't want to keep all that love to myself and let my head grow big. I want to invest that love. As someone once put it, I don't want to change the world. I just want to change the world for one person at a time.
