See Something More

I hung my hammock between the shade of two trees, just far enough off the path that I could watch the passerbys while still remaining a little isolated in the public park, which turns miraculously rainforest-like in the wet season. I took off my shoes, and hung my bare feet over the side of the hammock with my Bible and journal in my lap. I set my water bottle and blonde Oreo cookies (a rare treat that I found at the grocery store!) within reaching distance, and I decided that I needed nothing else in that moment to be perfectly content.  It actually rained a little bit, but I didn't mind because the canopy kept most of the rain out, except for a few heavy droplets that broke through and landed on my head and neck to cool me off.  It had been a busy week here in the capital city, and I had been spending intentional time every day with specific people to seek their counsel and advice. Some you could call official meetings, but most were just causal conversations over coffee

From the moment I first met him, he tugged at my heart.  Perhaps it was because he looked to be about the size of a three year old even though he was five. He was severely stunted and thin from chronic malnutrition; he hadn't truly eaten in over two years because of a severe esophageal stricture, which made it painful and impossible to swallow solid foods. He had been living off liquids, and even that often ended in pain and vomiting. For two whole years.  Or perhaps it was the look in his eyes. His expression was completely flat, his eyes almost hollow as if nothing was even left inside of him. I have never seen a child look as hopeless as he did, as if childhood had been totally robbed of him. His eyes told a story of a child that has experienced too much suffering in his five short years. Years that should be spent playing and exploring, learning and growing and being loved. Instead he had nothing but pain, hunger, poverty, isolation, neglect, perhaps abuse.  "

I woke up to the sound of rain hitting the tin roof, so I smiled, turned off my alarm, rolled over, and went back to sleep.  Whatever plans that I had for the day were off. Here in Burkina, you never have to ask if things are canceled because of the rain. They always are. Rain puts a halt on normal life. In the States, people can always find a way around the rain - cars, umbrellas, rain boots, back up plans - but those aren't a thing here. When it rains, stores close, work stops, and the streets flood with water but are completely void of people. You can't go anywhere, you can't do anything; you are confined to the house to rest until the rain stops. It's a forced pause, and a very welcomed one.  And it's funny, no one complains about the rain. They all love it.  One rainy morning, I was sitting outside on a covered porch at a guesthouse, watching the droplets make artistic patterns as they hit the pavement. All my plans for the day were on standby, so

A little boy in a village woke up one Sunday morning with his heart set on going to church, where he would participate with other children of all ages - three to twelve years old - in their Sunday school program, which usually includes rhythmic dagara praise songs, the beating of a drum made out of a plastic water container, dancing feet and clapping hands, prayers directed by the children's minister, and a bible story with a memory verse.  His father wasn't so sure about his son's interest in this religion. For as long as he can remember, his family and community have practiced traditional African religion, using sacrifices and rituals and fetishes to ward off evil spirits. This Christian religion teaches against these things, which upsets the authorities that try to protect and preserve African culture.  The father told his son he would beat him if he chose to go to church. He went anyway.  His father chased him down and found him on the road, where he stoppe

I lightly scrape the soft ground with the hoe, pulling up weeds off the surface without disturbing the roots of the corn. It's about two feet high now, and the rains are coming every three days or so. Between rains, I take the hoe and till around the corn stalks to keep the weeds down. I mound up the extra dirt around the stalks to support them as they grow taller, so that the wind doesn't blow them over.  When I garden, I think. It's therapeutic. I think about my teammate sharing at the team meeting this morning that she will be leaving in September. It was a hard announcement to make, one that came with tears, but also with support and words of encouragement as we all realize that she is taking the next step in her walk with God.  It all makes me think as I work the hoe and the soil. It makes me wonder what's next for me. Recently, I find myself thinking a lot about what's next, and it's not just because of my roommate's departure. I've always

"So how do I go from talking about diarrhea to a biblical message?"  These are the kinds of interesting conversations Emily and I get to have. And this is the kind of creativity that we get to invent as we seek to minister through the infants in distress program.  One of the biggest outreaches of the infants in distress program is the monthly milk distribution. The thing is, we can give away milk and medical care and compassion at these events, but if we don't offer Jesus, what is the real point? A physical need has been met, but an eternal one neglected. I heard a missionary surgeon once say, "I don't want to just populate hell with people who have had hernia repairs." In the same way, we don't want to save a bunch of infants' lives just so they grow up never hearing about Jesus.  That's why each milk distribution includes a biblical message, which comes right after the health and hygiene teaching segment. This is also why Emily and

Persecution used to be such an obscure word to me. It made me think about the New Testament times when apostles would be beaten, imprisoned, exiled, or crucified upside down. Persecution seemed distant, like a thing of the past. Kind of like slavery - something that was abolished years ago and no longer exists, right?  But the reality is slavery and persecution still exist. More than just exist, they are normal life for the majority world. In the "Insanity of God" by Nik Ripken (a highly recommended book and movie), an inspiring and challenging story about Christian persecution, most believers in the world are so familiar with persecution that they consider it as normal as the sunrise. Believers aren't even considered true or trustworthy until they have been persecuted.  Oh what a stark contrast compared to my easy, church-going, persecution-free Christian life.  Living in Burkina Faso has brought persecution a little closer to home. I would still never say I

The morning air was still slightly chilly as I pedaled my bike up the road towards the hill that overlooks the city. Even though my fellow African early-risers were wearing jackets and hats, I enjoyed the chill bumps on my arms, a luxury to be enjoyed before the sun gets higher in the day and turns everything scorching-hot again. The streets were more vacant than normal since I was up a little earlier, but I still smiled and waved at the the women who were going into town with goods on their heads, ready for whatever the market would bring them today.  Right before turning off the only paved road in our town onto the red dirt bike path that goes up the hill, I noticed a woman biking up ahead of me. By the way she leaned when she pedaled and favored her right side, I knew who she was - a woman at least twice my age, but a sister in Christ who has become a dear friend. I rode up beside her, and she looked surprised to see me up so early, but happy at the same time.  "Good m