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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...

“Oooh, it is so good!” Barto said after playing one song on my guitar. I wanted to make an excuse and explain to Barto that my guitar is actually really cheap and on the low end of all guitars, but I couldn’t. It has all six strings and will stay in tune, making it the best guitar Barto had played in a long time.    Some kids and toddlers from the orphanage wandered over to the table where Barto was playing, drawn by the delicate finger picking and sweet melodies. I have to admit, Barto did make my guitar sound really good.    With three children sitting on his knees and six more pressed close around him, Barto belted out songs to Jesus in Moore. He made up a song that used each child’s name: “Latif, Jesus loves you. Steve, Jesus loves you. Mandina, Jesus loves you…” With each name, he turned to that child just in time to witness their huge smile at the sound of their name in the tune.   “What should I name my guitar?” I asked Barto sometime la...

“Ashile, Ashile!”    I heard my name being called by such a sweet little voice, so I turned around to see Mariam at my feet. Her smile beamed, and I scooped her up and swung her around into my arms as she laughed with delight.    I, too, beamed with delight because she was the first one to call me by my name. When I walk on the streets in Yako, I getted called “Nasara, Nasara!” (white person, white person!) all the time. Ashli is a hard name for them to pronounce, nevertheless remember and repeat. That’s why it meant so much to me that little Mariam would remember and call out my name.    Later that evening, as I processed and reflected on my day, I kept thinking about that moment and how my heart had swelled at the sound of my own name. Why does that make me feel so good? Why does that mean so much to me?   Then I remembered how often in the Bible God expresses His deep desire for His name to be made known among the nations. Maybe, jus...

Psalm 42:1 “As the deer pants for slowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God.”   I drank 2 liters of water today. Before 10 am. “Today,” I announced, “I am going to stay on top of dehydration!” Most days, I drink to replenish the water that I have already lost. But today, I was determined to stay hydrated and beat the heat before I started even getting dry.    And it took 2 liters before 10 am to accomplish that. I guess that’s just what you have to do sometimes.      “You know, we Africans don’t really drink water,” Adama told me when we were in Kimini.    “What do you mean?” I asked as I chugged water out of my bottle.    “Like what you are doing right now,” he said. “We don’t drink. Except maybe at meals.”    “Are you serious?” I asked, astounded. I couldn’t believe it.   I thought about my studies of the human body and the importance of fluid and electrolyte balance. I thought ...

Just in case you were wondering if Tom’s really does send one pair of shoes for every pair you buy, it’s true. I saw the storage room in Yako piled to the ceiling with boxes and boxes of black Toms – around 18,000 in all – just like the ones you buy in the store.    On distribution day, I was in charge of the educational session. Half of the children in the orphanage got fitted while the other half stayed with me for a lesson on the importance of wearing shoes, using a latrine, and washing your hands and feet.    I began by asking, “Who is excited to get a new pair of shoes today?” and every hand in the classroom shot up in a split second. Some children almost fell out of their chairs they were so excited.    “And why are you getting shoes? Who can tell me? Is it so you can run really fast?” A few children smiled. “Is it so you will look really good in a new pair of shoes?” More children smiled. “Maybe that is part of it,” I said, “But did you ...

I am finally getting the schedule down. You might be wondering what a day in the life looks like in Yako, Burkina Faso. For me, it starts at 5:50 am.    I wake up, roll out of bed into my tennis shoes, and head to the soccer field with my ipod. For the next hour, I run, walk, and worship. I come back to the house, get out my bottle of water that I put in the freezer before my run, and turn on the giant swamp cooler fan in the living room. My sweat turns cold as I chug my partially frozen water and stretch in front of the fan. It is one of the sweetest moments of my day.   I shower and then take my Bible and “Mere Christianity” out to my hammock. By 8:00, everyone else is waking up, so I go back in the house and hang out until we are ready to go see the babies.   As soon as we walk through the door, I hear the pitter patter of little feet on the pavement, and I look down to see three or four children all looking up at me with their arms raised, saying...

During the week that I spent in Kimini, I realized something about myself: I love to do things. I am a doer.    Maybe this is why I never take naps. Or why I can’t stand to watch when I could be helping. Maybe this is why I love it when my schedule is jam-packed and I am running a million miles an hour. It is why I love to get my hands dirty, to try to new things, and to embark on adventure.    Sometimes being a doer is a strength. God calls us to put our faith into action, and I have always loved reading those passages in the Bible that encourage me to dream about some new adventure with God and me.    But sometimes being a doer is a weakness, too. I am not very good at being still, which God also commands. I am not very good at resting. I struggle with Sabbath.    While in Kimini, both sides - the strength and weakness – of this character trait evidenced themselves. Because of my compelling desire to get up and do stuff,...

I patiently waited outside the “douche” (or “shower”) and stood guard for Emily because this “shower” was not exactly what you might think of when you think about the shower in your bathroom. It had four concrete block walls, but such a large door that, practically speaking, there were only three. Your head could peek over the top and see the wide-open space where people walk to haul their water from the well. Oh, and did I mention the shower head? There’s not one. Just the bucket you bring with a little cup to use to pour on yourself.    After Emily finished, she complained of feeling a little sick, so I told her “no problem” and let her go on back to the house. I didn’t mind being alone for a little while. I hung a piece of fabric to serve as a shower curtain. It didn’t stay up by itself, so I used my clothes on one side and my soap on the other to hold it up at the top.    By this time, the sun had set and the stars were coming out. I turned on my he...