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She weighs less than four pounds. Her tiny fingers and toes make me gasp in awe and wonder. She’s amazing really, to be born at 31 weeks in such a harsh environment and to make it this far. The purpose of her life right now is to exert as little energy as possible and drink as much milk as her little stomach will allow so that she can grow.  Her mother is also fascinatingly beautiful. She comes from the Fulani tribe, which have distinct facial features and jewelry that make them striking. She does not speak any french and I don’t speak any of her language, so our communication is limited to a lot of gestures and giggles.  This week I showed her how to do kangaroo care by placing her baby on her chest, skin to skin. The next thing I knew, the sweet mother was getting her tiny premie baby out of the incubator all the time without asking me. I also caught her attempting to breastfeed once, which promptly made the baby vomit. I gently corrected her and tried to explain wi...

Walking out of the plane and down onto the tarmac, a blast of hot dusty air hit my entire body, and it warmed me down to my very heart. This is the familiar feeling of being back in Burkina Faso.  My favorite thing about Burkina Faso is definitely the people, but the next best thing is the strawberry season in January and February. The little red berries are small and wild and natural, which makes them the reddest, juiciest, melt-in-your-mouth berries that you’ve ever tasted. You’ll feel like you’ve been fooled into eating fake strawberries your whole life when you pop one of these in your mouth. You buy them by the kilogram off ladies’ heads as they walk down the street, and if you are like me, you can eat a ridiculous amount of them without feeling guilty.  In the United States, I would never buy a carton of strawberries and eat the whole thing at once. But in Burkina Faso, I’ll buy a sack with twice that many in it and sit down to eat them until they are gone. ...

Waking up under a light sheet with sun streaming through the window, I breathe in deeply and smell the familiar smell of dryness and dust. The sound of chickens squawking and motorcycles passing by eases a smile onto my sleepy face. A reminder that 7:30am is not the early morning for most Africans; they’ve already been up for hours as I’m just rolling my lazy, jet-lagged body out of bed. But it’s a happy body. “I’m back in Africa,” I say to myself as my feet hit the hot tile floor and pick up that light layer of fine dust. During harmattan season, no matter how many times you sweep or mop, you just can’t keep up with the dust, and the way it sticks to my feet makes it feel like home. Hopping in the pickup truck, I ride over with some dear missionary friends to visit the center where they distribute milk for orphans and malnourished babies. Bumping down the dusty road with the windows down, my head hits the ceiling as we pop out of a deep pothole. Motorcycles weave in and out, in f...

Popping a DVD into the player, we snuggled up on the couch for a family movie night. Our movie choice might not be like what most might choose, but before you judge it too quickly like I initially did, I have to say this movie highly exceeded my expectations, and that I would definitely recommend it for your next movie night. It is Disney’s Christopher Robin.  In addition to bringing up very happy childhood memories and making me smile at the lifelike animation of the stuffed animals, the movie has great themes about family and what’s really important in life.  One of my favorite elements of the movie are the simple, yet profound sayings about life that Winnie the Pooh throws in at several times throughout the story.  For example, a recurring theme is that Winnie the Pooh spends most of his time doing nothing, while the grown-up Christopher Robin is obsessed with his job and too busy to spend time with his family. “People say nothing is impossible, but I ...

I’m just a normal person trying to understand a complex situation. I try to follow the news, read the reports, understand the lingo, and sound intelligent about it all, but my perceptions are undoubtedly mixed with some normal human gut reactions that come from a person who doesn’t just know Burkina Faso from the news, but from three years of life there.  So I get what I hear and read as I follow twitter and Facebook groups and read headlines and expert reports - the attacks, the raids, the shots fired, the kidnappings, the movement of terrorism, the spread of extreme Islamic teachings and beliefs. When most people hear about Burkina Faso, this is what comes to mind.  But when I hear “Burkina Faso”, I also think about my quiet mornings of jogging through corn fields and having a cup of tea on the front porch, of getting warm beignets from my favorite lady in town and then eating them with some of my dearest African friends as we talk about our morning devotionals....

“I’m going to bid no matter what this time!” I said before even looking at the hand of cards I had been dealt. “Why not? We aren’t keeping score!” My partner added as everyone around the table laughed. I’m was happy to be her partner since she was my grandmother, plus she wins all the time. We asked her, “Mama Pat, how are you so good at cards?” and she said, “Well I should be. I spend half my life playing!” And she laughed so hard when she said it that we couldn’t help but laugh, too.  It was the night before I left Little Rock, and I loved that the way I was spending my last moments was around a round table playing Rook with my grandmother, sister, and her boyfriend.  I used to not be this way. I used to have a party or a sleepover or something on my last night in Little Rock, and I would try to see as many people as possible before leaving for another year in Africa. I’m thankful for those memories - for friends flying in from out of town just to spend the nigh...

As I sit down to write on this New Year’s Day, I think about how I would normally be spending my time writing something quite different. Usually on a day like today, it would be a journal. Or a list. Or a brainstorm on a white sheet of printer paper. I would be reflecting on last year, analyzing what was good and what could have been better, and setting strategic resolutions for this next year. But strangely enough, and quite contrary to my nature, I don’t feel like I need to do that this morning.  Instead, I look at my hand and wiggle my middle finger and feel the unfamiliar sliding of a new ring, one that I got for Christmas, one that signifies why I‘m not doing resolutions this year like I normally would.  Don’t worry, I’ve still thought about all the things I’m thankful for from 2018, and I’ve praised the Lord for them. I’ve looked forward to some things in 2019 and prayed about them. But what I’m not doing is obsessing about analysis and self betterment like I us...