It's taken me a while to process Africa, but Sean keeps at me to write something about it. Hence, his aptly-named title for the blog.
For me, Africa was a kaleidoscope of emotions. It was glorious and painful, hopeful and heart-breaking, beautiful and devastating. I went from crying over a child who had brokenness all over her, to laughing with them over bubbles and apples and sunglasses.
My biggest surprise was coming down with Shingles in my eye. As the doctor there said, “How does someone as healthy and young as you get shingles?” And I’m wondering "How can the timing to get shingles be so inconvenient?" After months of preparing to love on a bunch of abandoned children, I end up contagious.
Miraculously, a wonderful doctor was on the trip, too. Miraculously, the opthamologist that visited the town every couple weeks was coming in the next day. Miraculously, this typically excruciating condition was relatively painless. Miraculously, it didn’t get into my cornea until I’d returned home and could have it effectively treated. It took me a few days to recognize it, but despite all that was happening, I felt so loved by God. So taken care of. Details that I’d never expected worked out in ways I never imagined. (Like an eye exam and four medications coming to a grand total of $6.)
I think there were things I saw more clearly through my eye patch than I’d ever have recognized without it. Namely, that if God can provide with such concerned detail for my needs, than I have to believe that he can and does provide in even greater ways for the Swazi people.
It changes the way I pray. When I ask God to take care of that child who’s only living relative just died. Or the one who faces abuse. Or the one who walked three miles to the Carepoint to get their first meal in days. I believe he hears it. I believe he shows up in greater ways in Swaziland than here in the United States because they’re desperate for it. The need is great…and that makes God’s grace even greater. And it’s everywhere. Despite the sadness, the devastation, the pain—there’s something intrinsically hopeful about that place. Something powerful. Something so good. Despite the circumstances, and maybe because of them, God's love feels so much more real there. It may not come in the tangible ways that I hope, but its presence is undeniable.
After a couple days, I did get to hang out with the kids, and I even got to get rid of the eye patch. Both Sean and I were ready to take a couple kids home who absolutely broke our hearts. But adopting from Swaziland is pretty much impossible without being a citizen. I still think about these children every day. And I view practically everything in life differently—it all has new meaning. My coffee from Starbucks. Watching my children play freely--without any fear. Serving a meal. Being able to lock my door at night. Vacuuming a house that could easily house 100 people in Swazi terms.
It makes me grateful. And stirs my soul--reminding me to "remember." Remember these people, continue to have a passion for them, and strive to be obedient to our calling in that place.
