Home

It's been a few days now since I arrived to Burkina after being away for a few months, and I have made an interesting and beautiful discovery. 

There are things about Burkina that I missed. Like playing soccer in the dirt at kids' club and telling each child that their coloring sheet is beautiful, even when Jesus' face is colored blue. 

Like those bubbly Lafi drinks with a crystal light mixed in and bowl of ripe red strawberries. You've never had a real strawberry until you've had one from Burkina. It makes your average Kroger strawberries seem like an entirely lesser fruit. 

Like Friday morning milk distributions and bouncing black babies. They are scared of me and cry at first, but usually warm up and will even let me hold them or smile when I make a goofy face. 

When you miss things like this, it can only mean one thing. This place is beginning to feel like home. 

There is a great difference between my arriving to Burkina this year and last year. Last year, I fell on the floor of a room at the guest house and cried, wondering what I had done. This year, I checked into the same quest room but instead of crying, I was laughing and joking with Micah. Nor was I alone; I was greeted by several friends, kids from the youth group, and other missionary families who came to the guest house to welcome us back to Burkina. 

I've noticed other differences, too, like yesterday when I rode my bike into town to get some money from the ATM and then make some necessary purchases. Of course the ATM wasn't working so I didn't get anything done, but it didn't really bother me like it used to. Instead, I bumped into someone I knew and chatted for a while, and then stopped to talk with a lady in the neighborhood, and even rode my bike by the tailor to catch up with her also. 

Those are the things I miss, and those are things that make me feel like I'm at home. 

That same afternoon I helped Bombakebe buy a new tooth brush and toothpaste and made sure he was rewarded with a big meal because he had washed himself and his clothes like mama Suzanne had asked. I asked what he wanted, "Rice? Sauce? To? Spaghetti?" His eyes lit up and he shyly yet excitedly whispered, "Spaghetti!" 

We found a sick baby at the milk distribution that morning, so we payed for some medical care and provided them a place to stay next door. When they arrived, I helped them get settled in so that I could keep an eye on their baby who is weak and malnourished. In between all this, I was playing bad mitten barefoot on the front lawn with Micah, who was being very patient because I got interrupted every 7 points to help out with something else - taking care of the family next door, bombakebe, and people who come knocking. 

People ask what a normal day is like in Burkina. It's this. It's riding my bike into town and seeing people I know. It's helping the people that God brings our way. It's even a mixture of joy and heartache. 

Because this day wasn't all easy. When we found the malnourished baby, I wanted to scoop her up and care for her as a nurse, but I couldn't. It's hard being a nurse and not being able to help because you don't have a place to work, a place with supplies and medicine and resources. So we sent her to the local hospital, where I doubt the quality of the care that is given. In that moment, I wanted an Infant Rescue Center so bad. A place where I can practice as a nurse and give compassionate care. I felt the frustration, and I knew that I needed to feel it because that's what sick people and medical professionals feel here everyday, and because of days like these, I will appreciate our Infant Rescue Center ten times more. 

I've received a gift - the gift of a home in two places, Burkina now being one of them. It makes me realize that we take "home" for granted, but I don't want to do that anymore. Wherever you have been planted during this season of your life, wherever you find that your home is, embrace it. Notice the things that you love and miss. Stop and talk to the people you know, don't let interruptions bother you, practice hospitality, and take off your shoes to play barefoot in the grass.