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I get a lot of responses when I tell people that I am moving to Africa.  "Wow! That is so exciting!" "What an amazing opportunity!" "What do your parents think?" "You must be so brave." But my favorite response came from one particular man. He was the most honest and probably the first one to speak what every one else had only been thinking.  "You are moving to Africa? That's plain crazy!" Yes, sir. Yes it is.  I have been challenged recently to be more conscious and more intentional about looking for opportunities to share Jesus with the people around me. Getting on an airplane doesn't make you a missionary. You can't expect to be a missionary in Africa if you aren't already one here.  So I couldn't let this opportunity slip by. Normally I would have just said, "Yeah, I know. But I will be fine" or something simple like that. But this time, I saw such a comment as an opportunity. Just like he was honest wi...

All my life I was encouraged to be involved. Get plugged in. Be active. Be engaged. Don't miss an opportunity. Carpe diem. Now I am learning to do the very opposite.  I have spent the past 23 years of my life getting "plugged in" to my life here in the United States. I first learned to plug in to social groups and extracurricular activities at school. I then learned to get plugged in and involved at my job. I got plugged in at church, too, as well as involving myself in opportunities to serve in the community. I even plugged into a cycling group. When my schedule is full and every day is busy with great activities, life is full, right? I thrive on a tight schedule, I love being on-the-go, and I embrace involvement.  But Africa calls, and now everything must be undone. Instead of plugging into new things, I am learning to remove myself from all the things that attach me to the United States so that I can begin a new life in Africa. It feels quite backwards, qu...

With a standard transmission, four-wheel drive, a roof rack, and a winch, it was an African safari vehicle at its finest. I mean, just look at this thing. You would want to drive this if you were going to live in Africa, wouldn't you?  The only thing it lacks are zebra stripes. I told the missionaries to work on that for me while I am away. This Nissan patrol belonged to a former missionary who was willing to sell it to me at an excellent price.  The only thing I needed to do was raise the money needed by September 14, which I affectionately named "vehicle day". Since I sent out my first appeal on August 16th, that didn't leave very much time to gather such a large sum of money.  But nothing is too hard for the Lord, who has all the resources in the world, and who is not limited to our time frames.  This is his story of how he made it happen.  A few months ago, Geoffrey told me about a man from a church in Texas who was wanting to make a fi...

She had light brown skin, lighter than the others. "That's because she is from a different group of people," the orphanage worker explained to me. "She is from south of here." Her name was Awa.  I instantly connected with Awa. Maybe it was because of her petite stature, her beautiful white smile against her brown cheeks, or her sweet and quiet personality. But really I think she chose to connect to me first. From the moment we met, she reached out her arms, begging for me to pick her up. I always caught her looking at me, seeking my attention. Craving my love.  So I gave it to her with all my heart. Every day that I spent at the orphanage in Burkina Faso, I devoted time for Awa. She loved it when I would fill my cheeks with air like a blowfish, then slap my hands to my face and "pop" them. Soon, she would just run up to me with her cheeks all puffed up, and I would "pop" them for her. Each time was followed by surprise and laughter,...

So many things about going on a mission trip is fun: getting a passport and visa, learning about the culture, picking up on a few new words and phrases in a new language, going to team meetings, even flying on an airplane. When that mission trip becomes five years long, even more fun is added. I get to plan for a life in a new culture and dream about future ministry opportunities.  There is only one part that is deemed "not so fun" and it tends to be the dreaded stage for many missionaries.  Fundraising.  As I approached the support raising process and was talking to the Lord about it, he seemed to ask me, "Why do so many missionaries dread support raising? You must realize that I like this part! Why should you fear something that I designed for you to thoroughly enjoy?"  You see, just like God has invited me to join him in his work in Burkina Faso, I now get the chance to extend that same invitation to others. I found such joy in receiving and responding to God...

First I turned in a 30 day notice to the management of my apartment complex, letting them know that I am not renewing the lease and will be moving out by the end of September. Then, I met with my unit supervisor at work and let her know that I would be quitting my job in the middle of November. It has been a week full of change, full of sadness at things coming to an end, and full of excitement at things yet to come. I'm going to Africa, y'all. And this is all part of the process - uprooting myself from things that are familiar in order to devote myself to what God is inviting me to do. It's not always comfortable, but it always adventurous.  When I told my supervisor that I would soon be turning in a two weeks notice, my mind flashed back to all my favorite memories over the past year: the first delivery I attended (I cried), the first cervix that I actually checked correctly, my first successful IV start, my first  delivery attended by myself, my first emergent situation,...

"Bonjour!" The professor announced as she waltzed in the classroom at 8:00 am on the dot. Such a greeting was completely expected for a beginner's French class. What we didn't expect was what happened next. She just kept talking - more like rambling actually - in rapid, fluent French. I looked around at the other students to make sure they were just as surprised as I was, and I found looks of shock and confusion in their eyes. We all began to wonder if we were in the wrong classroom. Maybe this was French 300 instead of 101?  She continued on and on, waving her hands entusiastically as she spoke. From my limited French, I could catch a word or two here and there. Putting the pieces together, I could understand that she was introducing herself and commenting on the rainy weather. She passed out a sheet of paper, entirely in French, and instructed us to fill it out about ourselves. Then she passed out another piece of paper - also entirely in French - that appeared to b...