What to say when it's all over...

One of the most common questions I hear (besides, "Are you glad to be back?") is, "I bet you have a lot of culture shock." I don't know if I would call it culture shock. I can't really describe how I feel. Empty might be part of it. I miss some of the people, especially the children very, very much. But "empty" really doesn't explain it either. When I was at Mole park, in Ghana, just before I left, I heard a young volunteer from Europe say, "People will ask you what you learned here, but they only have 5 minutes to listen. How do you describe it in 5 minutes." She hit it on the nail. I have a hard time talking about anything because it is too much. I find myself tearing up at least once a day, but can't explain why.

Let me tell you just a few short stories. I held a baby that was starving and had malaria one Sunday morning on the street outside the church. I called a medical assistant out of church and we went to buy medicine for the malaria. I found out later that she died the next day of malnutrition. Her mother had quit feeding her because the mother was pregnant with another child. And they could not afford milk or baby bottles.

I had a 5 year old, Adamu, living withme for 4 months, because her family couldn't or didn't want to care for her. She watched the "Jesus Video for Children" at least once a day. Several times a day when she was sick with malaria. She loved to sing praise songs and had a beautiful voice, even if she did get the lyrics wrong.

I was able to hold baby Brenda. I have sponsored her family for about 10 years. I met them 6 years ago, and she was named after me a few years after that visit. In the background is the rest of the family who I have watched grow up over the last 10 years.

I had anotherneighbor kid, Letif, that came in to shower and eat "fafa" (rice). If we went to the restaurant down the street to eat, he would wait outside for the leftover rice. The waitress got to where she knew him and would give him other people's leftovers when he was waiting for us. (We finally just gave in and invited him to come and eat with us, even if he had no shirt or shoes). One day Letif stepped on a bottle and cut his foot open. Again I called the medical assistant who came and looked at it and gave him a tetanus shot. I gave him my hiking sandals to wear to protect the wound. When someone questioned why I would give my shoes away, I thought "I have several more pairs of shoes and I can always get some like these again when I return home if I find that I miss them". After I returned to the US, I was at a Goodwill store and there was the exact same pair of sandals, in the same size! I didn't really want them, but I knew this was just God's way of telling me He would replace them if I wanted them.

I visited a witches village and had the chance to tell the women and their children that God loved them, that Jesus died for them and they could be forgiven for anything. These women have been exiled from their villages either because they really did practice witchcraft or because they were accused of it if someone in their village became ill or died. Many will never see their families again.

I saw 600 or more children come to VBS. I had movie night with the girls from school, made them all dinner, and they learned about s'mores from the college students. I listened to school children, 80% who are Muslim, memorize Bible verses, copy hymns from the hymnal, and give a Christmas concert for their parents. I witnessed children begging to throw my apple core away so that they could eat it on the way to the garbage. I had the privilege to be able to buy children shoes, give them Bibles from my church, make them their first and only Birthday cakes.

I am asked about the food, the electricity, the heat, and the lack of conveniences. Yes, the buses were crazy. The toilets were dirty or non-existent. It was over 100 degrees many days. It was dirty, hot, messy and sad. But I was given the opportunity to love children who had absolutely nothing. Children who came to watch Veggietale videos in their underwear. I count it a privilege to have met Letif, a boy who had nothing, whose parents did not care for him, who was hungry, but was so incredibly happy. I was blessed to love Adamu, to have her spend her time with me and sing her songs. I would give anything for "one more day" with her. I would eat rice and go "potty" in the bush, if it meant I could have the gift of having several neighbor kids, school students, or the college students in my small room to watch a movie.

Telecast sings the lyrics, "to be a part of your story, the story of love, and our great need for you". To be a part of God's story. Nothing compares. In the book, "The Sacred Romance", Brent Curtis and John Eldredge talk about how we miss being a part of His story by becoming wrapped up in our own stories. Even in Ghana I became wrapped up in my stories, in small conflicts, hurt feelings, disagreements. Nothing major, but still Satan has a way of distracting us from God's story. Yes, we in America have it easy. We are wealthy. Everything is convenient. We all know that. That isn't what saddens me. What saddens me is how quickly I got back into this culture. I saddens me that we all have just 5 minutes to listen to anything anyone has to say. We have had the "messages" drilled into our heads from pastors, missionaries, old and modern day prophets, even rock singers and movie stars. We KNOW that children are starving and dying. We KNOW that we should give more, pray more, do something. But when we only have 5 minutes it is easy to let the thought pass. Instead of giving God the chance to invite us into His story, we become wrapped up in "church stuff", in talking about each other, in getting ahead, in work and play and entertainment. We hurt each other, we ignore each other, we don't have time to come along beside each other and support each other, much less support a missionary or a child across the world from us. We hate and gripe and grumble. What makes me cry is to know that I am falling back into these traps. I cry because I catch myself actually trying to forget some of what I saw, or ignore the nagging feelings (so that I won't cry). What makes me cry is to know that people are living their own stories and will never know what it feels like to be a part of His story, will never really feel our great need for Him because we are doing "ok". I can't live in my story anymore. I can't play church and watch TV and be entertained. I don't want to know what movie stars are doing. I don't even want to hear the gossip about people I know. I need to be still in His story. So as you read this please pray that God will lead me to where and what He wants for me. I pray for all of you, that you will find a way to be a part of His story, to feel His love and to realize your need for Him. To share, to experience, to know what it feels like to forget your own story because you get caught up in His.