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Adjusting to life back in America after a summer in another country is always a challenge. It must be because you are a changed person, and putting a changed person back into an old environment creates tension. It's like taking a piece of clay out of a mold, introducing it to the potter's wheel where it is melted and molded into a new shape, and then expecting it to fit back into the old mold again. Something doesn't quite fit or feel right. The "re-entry process", also known as "reverse culture shock", can do funny things to a person. It made me want to wear long skirts on really hot days and chop onions and tomatoes to put in every dish that we cooked. I didn't turn the air conditioner on in my car for a week, and I had to convince myself that it was okay to throw away plastic bags because there were more in the cabinet. Emily texted me a few days after we got back and said, "The water in the shower changes temperature when you turn the knob...

"You just got back from Africa, right?" I nod, recognizing the familiar question and anticipating the one that will quickly follow. "So how was it?" I now have approximately thirty seconds to explain two months that have changed my life. What do you say? I have to chose my words carefully. I want to tell about the amazing adventure it was to live like an African among Africans. I want to tell a story about each of the children in the orphanage so that this listener can get a tiny peek into their precious personalities. I want to talk about missions and God's great big heart for the world and how his kingdom is spreading like wildfire across nations and people groups. I want my face to show beaming joy in loving on God's kids. At the same time,  I want to express the heartache that comes from experiencing AIDS, orphans, starvation, and poverty first hand as a result of the injustice and brokenness of this world. And in all of this, I want to centraliz...

After a long and tedious process of piles and piles of paperwork and appointments, the much-anticipated day finally arrived. Latif's new parents landed in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, and began to make their way to Yako to meet their new son. The last several weeks had not been without complications, and it was nothing short of a miracle that the adoption was even happening. But God is faithful, and Latif has a new forever family. Their love for him carried them across the ocean hundreds of miles to take him as their own. We made the new family a celebratory chocolate cake on the day that the adoption finalized, and I think Latif really enjoyed his first taste of chocolate! Latif and his parents stayed with us in Yako for several days. I loved watching Latif and his dad hold hands as they walked across the courtyard. I loved watching his mom snuggle him as he sat in her lap. I loved hearing Latif call his parents "mama" and "papa". And I enjoyed watching him g...

“How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty. My soul longs, even faints for the courts of the Lord. My heart and flesh cry out for the living God…For better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere.” (Psalm 84:1-2, 10)   After strumming a few chords, Tenielle’s voice rang out, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty.” As soon as we began the first verse of the song “Better Is One Day”, I remembered reading the words to Psalm 84 just a few days earlier. “I don’t know why I keep playing this song,” Tenielle said, “But the words have just been on my heart a lot recently.”    I have heard the song before, but this time was different.    We weren’t in an expensive church building with a stage and bright lights. We were in Ernes’s dimly-lit small living room.   We didn’t sit in pews, but we sank down into worn sofas. It wasn’t spacious and comfortable, but rather crowded and very hot.    It was...

“How did you see Jesus today?” was the conversation starter for tonight as we sat on the dusty sofas in the main room and enjoyed a rare piece of chocolate cake.    I thought through the events of the day – an ordinary day in which I really didn’t feel like anything extraordinary happened. There was no outstanding “aha” moment or special revelation. It was kind of just a regular day.    Then, I remembered one simple moment that was the highlight of my day. I sat down in the baby room with the legs stretched out on the floor. First, Rita came to me and plopped down on my right thigh. I snuggled her close and whispered, “Mum nungafo” in her ear to tell her “I love you” and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.   Then, Steve waddled over with that cute smile on his face, so I reached for him and sat him on my left thigh.    Next came Monica, fighting for the spot closest to my lap but settling for a seat on my lower right leg. Deudonne ...

We arrived at the church in the village, and the pastor warmly welcomed us by shaking our hands and ushering us to the very front of the building. When I say “front”, I do not mean the front row, but rather the front wall of the building where our chairs were directly behind the pulpit. It is a place of honor for special guests, and although it was awkward at first, I soon realized that we had the best seats in the house.    From our seats, we could watch the people as they sang, prayed, listened to the lesson, and worshipped. I loved watching them sway and even dance with the music, close their eyes and move their lips as they pray, and lean in to hear the Word of God spoken. The building was a simple square with cement floors, concrete walls, a couple of open doors and windows, and some hand-crafted wooden benches. The place was packed out, and people stood in the doors and windows to participate or just watch. It was very hot, and Barto’s sweat dripped down my gui...

We have a saying here in Africa that can only be used in very special circumstances. But when the moment is right and someone spells “TIA”, we all know what they mean. This is Africa.    For instance, yesterday I went to church in the village and ate lunch afterwards with the pastor. It was pasta and fish. I managed to eat the first piece of fish; no problem. But when they gave me a second piece, it was most definitely the head. Pulled out of the lake, head cut off, thrown in the frying pan, on top of my pasta. That’s when you say “TIA” and politely offer your fish head to the hungry African next to you, who thankfully doesn’t consider it offensive and eats the gills off that thing. Take another example. This morning the water was broken, so we didn’t have water in the house. This means that I had to manually fill the toilet with water just to get it to flush. Emily sees me walking several times to the bathroom with a pitcher of water. “What are you doing?” she a...