“Take my heart.  I lay it down at the feet of You who’s crowned.

Take me life, I’m letting go.  I lift it up to you who’s throned.

And I will worship You Lord, only You Lord.  And I will bow down for You, only You Lord.

Take my fret, take my fear, all I have I’m kneeling here.  Be all my hopes, be all my dreams, your all my delight, my everything.

And I will worship You Lord, only You Lord.  And I will bow down for You, only You Lord. ” -David Crowder Band

I have been searching my heart this week.  The Father is gently bringing my attitude into His crucible of refining fire.  It started with a conversation I had with a dear friend about our identity in Christ.  As she poured out her heart to me, she said something that struck such a chord in my spirit, that it left me with goosebumps.

“I want Christ to be my whole identity.  Not what I do or where I live.  I want HIM to be who I am.”

Later in the week I read a convicting article titled “The White-Savior Industrial Complex” written by Teju Cole, who is an African that immigrated to America.  Mr. Cole’s words shocked me both because they are true (sometimes even true of me) and they describe something so ugly.

This is a tricky balance for me, and I think it is for most people who consider “ministry” their full time profession.  We are here to serve.  We want to make a difference in the lives of women and children here.  We focus on this every day.  My prayers are centered on it, my thought life, my time and energy.  Somehow, however, I have to draw a line in my heart.  Because really, it is not I who am actually to do the ministry, it is actually Christ.  It is not the people here who I actually serve, it is Christ.

I know that I am here because He called me.  May I serve Him in humility and without the ugly side of ego that wants to take the glory, the credit, for myself.  Instead of wanting others to acclaim me, may others see Him at work in me and acclaim Him.  May His name be lifted high.

And then I got this note from a childhood friend…

His love leaves me speechless.  I am standing in a room alone with Him.  It’s just Him and me.

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise’ you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out an my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.  You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.

Search me, Oh God, and know my heart. Test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

-Psalm 139

On Wednesday afternoon we stood in the parking lot of our church in Virginia as a few dear friends and church leaders prayed for our voyage home.  “May the journey be uneventful,” someone prayed.  “May it all be smooth and without incident.”

And it was.

We made a few stops on our way to Dulles Airport, and then we found the Turkish Airways desk and checked in.  Our new turkey egg incubator and beehive from America and all our other luggage made the flight without the expected overweight baggage charges.  Our one hour and five minute connection in Istanbul was greatly aided by the fact that our arrival gate and departure gate were literally a few steps away from each other.  We sailed through customs here with no charges.  Praise God!  He sees our needs, both large and small.

As we rode in the church bus to Dulles Airport, my Nata boy announced that he was not happy to be going back to Africa.  When asked, “Why not?”  He explained that the power goes out way too much, and it’s so very hot when that happens.

Can’t argue there, sweet boy.  Our last few weeks before travel to America were very hot and tiring.  We encouraged Nata with the news that the power had been on for most of July and August.

When we turned off the pavement into our neighborhood, however, it was very clear that the houses were dark.  We got out the car and began to unload onto the porch.  I was immediately thankful that the rains had made the night air cool.  We searched for candles and flashlights.  I found Nata standing in the yard weeping.

In about half an hour the power came back on.  We have actually been a little chilly at night if we run the AC, so last night it was left off.

Now, a few days later, we are all settled in and so glad to be home.  The boys are running outside chasing our (LARGE!!) baby turkeys.  Today the internet is back on after my brave husband mounted the wall to repair the phone line downed by a tree.  (His parents are familiar with him climbing WAY TOO HIGH to get the job done.)  I am making tacos for dinner and SO GLAD to be back in the kitchen, back to routine, greeting old friends, sharing stories of the last two months.

He is faithful.

We are home.

Life is good.

This morning I sat with a friend in her living room.  We were surrounded by action packers full of clothes and other treasures including one 35 pound wooden elephant.  These are the last minute things she and her family are sorting, packing, and giving away before they leave Niger in less than two weeks.  She has become a dear friend to me, and I am sorry to see her go.  We have been trying to meet once a week this year to talk.  I am trying to glean from her as much wisdom as I can.  She has spent more than a decade here, and I love the way she lives life with humble grace.

As we sat with the power out in her living room, the conversation turned to one we’ve had a few times before.  Is it possible to fit right into this culture?  Is there a way for the locals to begin to see us as REAL friends? Are we (American women) even strong enough to live a REAL Nigerien life?  Can we stand side by side?

On Monday I had part of this conversation with Sophie, my kitchen helper.  She said that the darker your skin is, the more able you are to handle the heat.  Thank makes me about as wimpy as the come.  And it’s true.  Put me in a 110* kitchen with no fan, or ask me to walk across a field with no shade hauling water, and I can give you maybe an hour of my time before my attitude, my self pity, and my lack of physical strength take over.

My friend said she hopes she could do it, but the voices inside her head would whine and complain a lot.  She’s tougher than me.

The second part to this is, what can an American missionary do increase her ability to relate, culturally.  My friend and I agreed that even after giving birth here (she did it not me) or learning to speak a local language or dressing, eating, and living like the locals there’s still something like a thorn that constantly reminds everyone involved that we are different.

Shopping with my dear friend A and her baby. Trying to blend in, but the shopkeeper is not buying my disguise. Probably doesn’t help that my mother is snapping photos like a tourist!

I think education is a part of that, but also education about the rest of the world.  You see, not only to I see things differently because of my studies and my education, also… I get to leave.

My local friends are here.  For life (most of them).  And in today’s political climate that means that if war breaks out or terror strikes or things get really bad in this city, my family can (and probably would) pull out.  My sweet local friends will not.  These people who have suffered so much. They are here to suffer through whatever may come. Meanwhile, I am packing for a summer back in the luxury of my homeland.

Some of my most treasured friends.

It is my goal, my desire, my calling to try to jump in to this thing with both feet.  To try and love the people here with my whole heart.  To understand them and relate to them and befriend them.  To work with them side by side.  God give me the grace to accomplish this large task for your glory.  It has been attempted by so many.  Some have done it well.  Some have not.  I want to love like Jesus.

Would you pray with me for wisdom and grace in this area?  Also please pray for peace in this place.  I am reminded that we are not safe anywhere, not Boston, not Niamey, not anywhere.  Psalm 27 helps in moments like this…

The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?^ When the wicked advance against me to devour me, it is my enemies and my foes who will stumble and fall.  Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me,  even then I will be confident.

One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.  For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent and set me high upon a rock. Then my head will be exalted above the enemies who surround me; at his sacred tent I will sacrifice with shouts of joy; I will sing and make music to the Lord.

Hear my voice when I call, Lord; be merciful to me and answer me.  My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”  Your face, Lord, I will seek. Do not hide your face from me, do not turn your servant away in anger; you have been my helper. Do not reject me or forsake me, God my Savior.  Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me. Teach me your way, Lord; lead me in a straight path because of my oppressors. Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes, for false witnesses rise up against me, spouting malicious accusations.  

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

Life here lately has been lived in an oven.  Hot enough for me to culture yogurt on the kitchen counter or (literally) fry an egg on the roof of our house.  Hot enough that we have been praying for rain.  Hot enough that any breeze or cloud in the sky makes us feel hopeful.

We headed out around noon today to pick the boys up at school.  As our vehicle climbed up on the road, we could see the dust clouds moving in.  It’s always quite a sight.

We could see that the storm was rolling in quickly.  The sky began to turn orange.

Children who had just been let out of school began to run home.  In the middle of a dust storm, no one stays outside.  You must find cover.

Then it started raining spitting mud.

The view from our car sun roof.

Even though we were in the car the whole time, I had sand in my mouth, my eyes, and could see a fine orange dust across the dash.  What an awesome display of nature and God’s power in it!  We love this life!

From Psalm 148

A few weeks ago we started discussing with Sam what he would like to do in celebration of his seventh birthday. After talking about a birthday theme options and friends he wanted to invite, he finally looked at his dad and said, “I really just want to play baseball.”  This was about the time that Little League had started in Virginia.  Sam was aware of that, and shed a few tears over that, and so we began to plan a little Birthday Baseball.

Sam takes the field.

The guest list to this birthday event was different from any kid party we’ve ever had.  Sam thought of people he knew would want to play baseball.  When I asked him if he wanted to invite any friends from school he rolled his eyes and replied with exasperation, “MOM, none of them know how to play BASEBALL!”  This boy had his eye on the prize.

George the Sahelien Tortise watches on as the players prepare to invade his space.

As the game began and the players took the field, something magical began to happen.  Baseball magic.  You see, here in this community, softball is a game for the dads.  Many of the expat men we know love to play a competitive game on Saturdays, but because it’s competitive, little kids aren’t welcome.

As these kids began to play, and cheer each other on, the joy was infectious!

I saw in my husband a gift I haven’t seen a while: that coach, mentor skill that shines through him.  The reason God led him into a degree in Sports Management.

And then a couple spectators asked that quiet question, “Can I play?”  And we began to get a taste of what could be.  Something we planned and hoped for.  You see, this summer, while visiting America, we will be collecting new and used equipment.

Because we all agree that this IS and could be something so important for so many kids HERE.  Both locals and expats could learn to play.

And that would be magical too.  That’s the kind of magic we came here for, aspire for, and today we got just a taste of that.

Happy Birthday Sam!

We hope this day was all you dreamed it would be.  For us it was that and so much more!