The hardest part about being here in Africa is dreading what I’m going back to the States to. I have been filled up to overflowing here, my Father. Blessings have poured down on me, wave after refreshing wave, each one crashing down with a powerful sweetness that quite happily takes my breath away. The children with their brilliant smiles and eager hugs - the African translators with their contagious joy and open hearts - Minani and Karim and Afisa and John Paul. Do they understand how deeply they have touched and blessed my heart? I feel I have never known how to love before I came here - but here it is all effortless and joy-filled and the farthest thing from a burden I could possibly find. There is no service I render here; it is all simply an unavoidable overflow of You filling me.
But, my God, when I think of going back to Nebraska . . . ah, the dread is so thick, it leaves me nearly ill. I feel choked - like I can hardly breathe. It is not that I am not blessed in Nebraska; I am quite richly blessed, and daily, there. Then why? Because I don’t have a job that I know and find pleasure in. Because I don’t get to be with friends very often. But mostly because . . . I feel so useless in Nebraska. The little acts of happiness that bring me such joy here - songs and play and laughter and brilliant grins - they are, I don’t know - is it too busy? - in America for such things. They do not need me; already they cannot find enough time or space for the things they do have. The children I so delight in serving - the open-hearted people I love to just spend time with and try to give back to with the same generosity that they have given to me - it seems that these things are unwanted in America. Superfluous. In America I am supposed to get a job and make money so I can pay for things. In America I am not married and have no children, and so all the other families go to their homes and entertain themselves, and I am left with no forgotten, homeless children to stay and find joy in Your incredible creation and thrill my soul with their precious laughter.
At church this morning, the pastor talked about a lot of things. But at one point he brought up that verse where You promise to put the lonely in families. Well, there You have it. That’s me. I am blessed to come from an incredible family who finds joy in each other and in You - but my heart is with the children who have never known such a home. I would without hesitation say goodbye to my family for the rest of my life if it would bring me to the children who do not know what a family is. But where do You want me, Lord? Where are You leading? What do You have for me to do?
My latest hopeful vision is to bring the dear children of Africa songs written especially to them in their own language. From sharing the two songs You inspired me to write, I have been blessed to see how deeply it affected the children to hear a foreigner singing a song for them in their own language. They are starved for love - true, unadorned love that reaches into their hearts and promises simply itself - and this is one way You have given me to love Your precious kids. So, I want to take my two songs back to America and get sponsors to pay for the studio recording of these songs, and then send them back here for the children of Africa. But all this is expensive, yes? And I do not know if anyone would want to support such a thing. Is it really necessary? I am not offering food or clothes or clean water or education. There are other organizations doing that, and their work is so crucially important. They are saving lives. What am I doing? But I cannot get over it; this is my dream.
How to go about this or what might come of it, I don’t have the first clue. I’m no good at the practical side of things. My Lord and my God, teach me to follow You closely. Teach me to trust You fully. Back in Kigali on one of our last nights there, I told my Rwanda team that this trip was about me trusting You. Only now, as I get closer to leaving, it’s getting harder. I trust You with the hearts of these dear children because I have seen how much You love me, and I know You do not love them any less. But there are things that I dread about going back to America, and I know You do not always save us out of the valleys of pain. You never leave us, but You do not always rescue us in exactly the way we want You to.
Dear God, teach me to trust You. Amen.
*Additional note to this entry: As I was reading this over and typing it out, these thoughts came to mind: Trust and obedience go hand in hand. You cannot trust well unless you obey well, and you will find hard to obey what you do not trust. Do not ask God to help you trust Him more unless you are willing to obey Him more. If you commit to full, surrendered obedience to Him, you will find your trust in Him deepening. The two are inseparable. The old hym "Trust and Obey" is full of marvelous, unfathomed truth.
