sucker punch... ouch

T-minus 60 days until my departure from Ghana. It is inconceivable that nearly a year has passed by since this adventure began. Soon, I am going home. Lately, I have been feeling the pangs of the countdown.

You know the, “This is my last mid-term exam to administer. This is my last story hour with the kindergarten class. This is my last movie day.... this is my last... this is my last... this is my last.”

Among the pangs of sadness, I am also feeling a sense of urgency.

“I only have three more weeks to teach this. I only have one more week to cover that. But what about this, oh yeah and that too!”

I am beginning to think of all the “things” I will leave behind that are undone. I am beginning to focus on what I did not have time to finish...

...

This is the story of one girl, who, in search of herself found God, but sometimes confuses the two.

Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl was called Wunzoya, which in her language meant “God is BIG”. Now unbeknownst to her name, Wunzoya believed she was big. Wunzoya was loved and adored as a child, and never struggled in her life... so she really did not need help from anyone. She knew that all things were possible, if she worked hard enough. She wanted to make her life count for something, and unsure of that "something" she set out in search of "it"... “It” being the true meaning of life.

Wunzoya succeeded in school. She graduated from college with high honors. She even met someone and got married.

“Now”, Wunzoya thought, “This is the true meaning of life”.

However, Wunzoya was not happy. Wunzoya spent the next several years doing all the right things, saying all the right things, and even smiling at just the right moments. Wunzoya baked cakes. She read books. She hosted dinner parties. She decorated her house. She even paid her bills on time.

And Wunzoya was not happy.

Okay, so Wunzoya baked more cakes. She read more books. She bought more things to fill her house... and the bills, they were paid too.

And Wunzoya was not happy.

One day, Wunzoya had a memory from her youth. She remembered meeting The One True God. And she remembered being happy.

As you read this story, you might think this is when the story has resolve for Wunzoya... but not yet.

Wunzoya decided to leave her kitchen, her books, her couch, her amoires, and her husband in search for her happiness again.

And Wunzoya is...

In Africa. Teaching English. Learning about life. Learning about love.

And Wunzoya is...

...she is still searching, but aren’t we all?

...

As the countdown continues I keep thinking about everything I have left undone. A wise Jewish carpenter once said,

“It is finished!”

and who cares what I have done anyway. I’m just a Wunzoya! My days are numbered, but God’s are infinite. The real work begins when I get out of the way.

“Do you want to stand out? Then step down. Be a servant. If you puff yourself up, you’ll get the wind knocked out of you."

"But if you’re content to simply be yourself, your life will count for plenty.” Jesus

when things get tough...

I have reached my half way point in this journey... except 200 days in Africa will actually become more like 300 by the time I depart... and this is when things get tough...

So at this climatic median I have a crucial decision to make... do I stay for the next 150 days, or do I pat myself on the back and say, “You did a good work” and go home?

Both ideas twist through my mind at night as I lay in my bed. It would be easy for me to go home because, I am a natural born (confession) quitter. When things get tough I want to bail... and (another confession) many times I do, so more recently I have been trying to change that terribly “human” flaw within me.

The terribly “human” flaw that tells me,

“It’s okay to quit... you gave it a fair try, you made an effort, it just wasn’t for you.”

More recently, when I get to that momentary fork in the road I don’t choose one direction or another, not immediately at least, I stop and I am still.

This moment happened for me yesterday while at school. Between two of my classes I walked into the supply closet, locked the door and cried out for God to give me strength... I sat on the floor and was absolutely STILL. I think He must have heard me because I made it through the day!

Then today I went online to read about the devastation in Haiti and I was literally sick in my soul. People who survived the disaster are now dying of dehydration, and suffocating under 10-20 feet or rubble because the entire country is in shambles. One news website estimated that the effects of this tragedy will impact the lives of over 3 million people. 3 MILLION PEOPLE... that is nearly a third of their population.

and this is when things get tough...

Today I watched a homeless man stumble down the street to beg for coins so he could eat.

Today I took the hand of a little boy who lives outside of my compound and he began to cry because his hand was cut and the wound was infected.

Today I hired a grown man to patrol my school campus who has never learned how to read or write.

Today I welcomed a new student into my fifth grade class because at her previous school she was flogged for forgetting her veil.

and this is when things get tough...

I am reminded of Paul and his amazing endurance “when things get tough”.

To the church in Corinth he writes;

...Well now is the right time to listen, the day to be helped. Don’t put it off; don’t frustrate God’s work by showing up late, throwing a question mark over everything we are doing. Our work as God’s servants gets validated- or not- in the details. People are watching us as we stay at our post, alertly, unswervingly... in hard times, tough times, bad times, when we’re beaten up, jailed, and mobbed; working hard, working late, working without eating; with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love; when we’re telling the truth, and when God’s showing His power; when we’re doing our best settling things right; when we’re praised, and when we’re blamed; slandered, and honored; true to our word, though distrusted; ignored by the world, but recognized by God; terrifically alive, though rumored to be dead; beaten within an inch of our lives, but refusing to die; immersed in tears, yet always filled with deep joy; living on handouts, yet enriching many; having nothing, having it all.

when things get tough...

Currently, my thoughts turn to these words written by a man who, through the tough stuff decided to choose the road of perseverance.

You see, Paul was a wise, wise man who knew that the journey was not to reach a prize, but in fact the journey was the prize!

I am dead yet terrifically alive.

I am immersed in tears and possessing deep joy.

I am living on handouts yet enriching many.

I am having nothing, and having it all...

...and this is when things get tough, so I choose the journey not the prize!

Continue to pray for me and the lives I am blessed to encounter on this journey.

hOmE...what does that really mean?

A tribute to home... Wandering around Washington D.C. with my stuffed animal dog (won from a claw vending machine in an Alabama gas station) in my purse (dog's name is Pav)...Washington Monument to my right, American flags billowing in the breeze!

Some say,

“Home is where the heart is”

... Others might agree, “Mi casa es su casa”

“Home is where you hang your hat”

“Home is where you can scratch where it itches”

“Home is not where you live, but where they understand you”

Many great poets, writers, theologians, and scholars have given their perspectives on what home means to them. The connotation of home is different for every person you ask... Perhaps home is different for every person. I think so.

You see, I have been living in West Africa for almost four months now and with the passing of Thanksgiving and the onset of Christmas I have begun to feel a yearning for home. After careful consideration of my own interpretation of home I have concluded,

“I don’t have an interpretation! I really don’t know what home means to me.”

In fact, just the other day someone asked me,

“Where do you call home?”

I looked that person in the eye and honestly told them,

“I’m not sure.”

Here I am a girl on the run who has been stopped in her tracks by the idea of “home”. So today’s question is,

“What is home?”

My family is scattered up and down the east coast of the United States, I am loved and welcomed into more homes than biologically required, yet I have no clear idea of where to call home.

My medical diagnosis is wanderlust (o.k. maybe not medically diagnosed...but you get the idea), ask anyone in my family, or better yet, ask my mom. For as long as I can recall I have had a spirit and sense of adventure. Not adventure in the sense of bungee jumping or rock climbing, but more like adventure in the sense of... I want to learn Spanish, I want to drive across the cross country, I want to live in Africa. Some might call this the “the travel bug” or just plain insanity, but to me this itching desire became my reality about two years ago when I made a decision to leave behind one life and stepped into another.

James says,

“You’re nothing but a wisp of fog. Catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing.”

Translation, LIFE IS SHORT. It is difficult to think about life as a vapor or wisp of fog when you are only twenty-four years old... but I know that James’ words are inspired and true. So I remind myself of his words as I live this vapor of a life.

I am definitely not quoting scripture to condone leaving one’s commitments. Impulsivity is not a good decision making tactic. I have learned through bad decision making that all decisions have their consequences, some are great, and some are guilt ridden. What I am trying to argue is my serious case of wanderlust.... I think you get the idea now.

So as I type this journal entry I am mentally evaluating my own thoughts about home and how “homesick” I am feeling (like I have written in the past, typing these messages is therapeutic).

How can someone miss something without specification. Can someone actually miss an idea? Humans beings miss each other, our family, our relationships, our pets, our routines, but can a human being actually miss an idea... a thought, a hope, a dream, a notion? My answer is,

“Undoubtably YES!”

“Sure, I miss Diet Coke, Target, and my Mom, but what I also miss is the idea of home, the place of my birth, the only place I have ever lived for twenty-four years... I miss my home!”

By human standards, I would say that homesickness is not uncommon. I mean, don’t we all feel an emptiness sometimes? A tinge to move, experience, or live outside of ourselves.

As a follower of Jesus, I would say that homesickness is unfailing. Here is why I make such a bold statement. As a believer in the divine and sacrificial life of Jesus Christ, I have pledged my life to follow His teachings and example, but Jesus did not only speak and teach about this life... in actuality He spoke more about His kingdom to come. To me this is the root of my homesickness. No matter where I travel or where I land, I will undoubtably feel a sense of homesickness. Think about it, the system on this earth we live in is broken, and until it is restored we will never feel at home. No matter where I am I will always be a visitor. My life can help make a difference, I can help in the restoration of this earth, but until He fully restores this world I and every other human living on this planet will be “homesick”. Right now our planet is a beautiful labyrinth of love, joy, pain, sorrow, and adventure...So just imagine how beautiful it will be when it has been made whole again, flawless, perfect! Sometimes I close my eyes to try to picture such a harmonious world...my imagination only touches the fringes of His reality.

Lord, Help me to play a part in Your restoration... Lead me through this “homesickness”. I want my life, although only a wisp of fog, to count for something!

Home...

Still wondering yourself? Here is what others think about the idea...

It matters less to a person where they are born then where they can live.

Turkish Proverb

Home is a place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.

Henry David Thoreau

Everyday is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Matsuo Basho

Where thou art, that is home.

Emily Dickinson

We shape our dwellings, and afterwards our dwellings shape us.

Winston Churchill

Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.

John Ed Pearce

One may make their house a palace of sham, or they can make it a home, a refuge. Mark Twain

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.

Maya Angelo

Peanut Butter Cookies for the Neighborhood

I had an urge to bake peanut butter cookies... Then I walked outside my front door and shared them with the neighbors. Everyone looked at me with trepidation, but after one taste they asked for another!

Interesting Fact -The Ghanians call peanuts "groundnuts" and peanut butter "groundnut paste".