You Asked For This

"You should come to my yoga class with me!" she said, and I figured there is a first time for everything, so I agreed. I'm not the yoga type, but if anything, I could laugh at myself or be a source of comic relief. Except I learned that people don't really laugh a lot while doing yoga, so perhaps I just helped the rest of the class feel better about themselves by watching my obvious novice attempts.

She warned me that it was a "hot yoga" class, and that I should be ready to sweat a lot. Then she proceeded to read a description that they heat the room to a balmy eighty degrees. 

"Eighty degrees?" I exclaimed. "I'll need a sweater!" 

I thought about that time I woke up (in Burkina Faso in the rainy season) to a nice cool rain. It was so chilly that I put on pajama pants (those only get worn on the coolest days!) and socks, heated up a cup of coffee, and sat on the porch with chill bumps on my arms. Just out of curiosity, I got up to check the temperature. 82 degrees! But when you've lived in average temperatures of over 100 long enough, your body adapts, and 82 indeed feels like sock weather. The Africans wear ski coats and ear muffs when it gets that cold. 

So while everyone was sweating it out in hot yoga, I was thinking it would be nice to have a cup of warm tea.

But the temperature is only one aspect of many adjustments that come with returning to the United States. I catch myself speaking french when I don't really even mean to. I want to take my shoes off at every door and shake the hand of every person in the room. And my poor digestive system. I've probably had more diarrhea these past ten days than the entire year in Burkina Faso. Sorry, too much information? Or maybe too much velveeta shells mac 'n cheese? 

But I love the colors on the fall trees. I love coffee shops and wearing scarves and sleeping under a blanket. I love christian radio and fast internet and putting dishes in the dishwasher. Most of all, I love being in the same room as my family. I love seeing friends, visiting churches, presenting and sharing, and having long talks about Africa and Jesus. 

Sometimes I focus too much on the differences between African and America, but I love it when the two collide. When I visit a friend's house who has no time frame and we talk for hours with nothing else to do, it reminds me of Africa. When I receive a picture and a message on WhatsApp from a friend in Burkina and I send a picture back, it makes the world seem a whole lot smaller. 

Transition is hard, not just on the body but on the heart. But in the hardest moments, I feel God reminding me, "You asked for this." Not in a disciplinary tone, but in the most tender, loving way. And it's true - I asked God to make me a missionary. I asked him to send me into the world. One time when I was on a short term trip in east Africa walking among some mud huts, I whispered a prayer asking God to let me live in a place like this. And he has answered. He has made my dreams come true; he has given me the desire of my heart. When I was asking for it, I didn't know how many hard things it would include, but I'm so glad he answered yes anyway. And really, I wouldn't change it or trade it. It's worth it. I will take the hard with the good and thank God for them both. 

When you think about some of your struggles, are they not directly related to a gift you asked for? You asked God for a child, but you didn't think about all the parenting difficulties that come with that. Or you wanted a job, you just didn't realize the stress and interpersonal conflicts that it involved. You asked for a change, not thinking about how even good change is hard. In this fallen world we live in, even good gifts from our Heavenly Father are inserted with pieces of pain. Yet even the pain presses out the impurities and strengthens the soul. We want to escape the hard things, but what if what is hard is actually a part of the gift? Instead of focusing on the discontentment, what if we focused on the gift that's been given? What if we even considered the struggle to be a part of the gift? 

So bear with me when I wear sweaters when it's 80. Don't take it personally if I'm at least twenty minutes late and make some excuse about being on Africa time. Don't get too annoyed if I start every sentence with "Well, in Burkina Faso..." for it's just a big part of me. A part that I want to share.  Rejoice with me on the days when everything about America is wonderful, and try to understand me on the days when my heart is just not here and I feel like crying. Life in Africa is hard, and these transitions are hard, too, but then I remember that I asked for this, and I am so thankful that God said yes. It's a gift - the hard and the good all wrapped up into one.