I stared into her tear-filled eyes, listening to her try to put her heartbreak into words. It was as though I was listening to myself four years ago when I returned from my first trip to Sierra Leone. I told her that while that pain never goes away, and Africa will always tug at your heart-strings, the pain will become a more manageable, deep ache. It won't always hurt this bad. But that was a lie.
While it wasn't a whole lie (and at the time I whole-heartedly believed it), it was a lie nonetheless. One that slapped me across the face this evening as I lay on the floor, next to Little Miss's crib singing her the same Swahili lullaby I sang to a sweet, three-year-old, Sierra Leonean little boy as I rocked him to sleep night after night. It felt as though my heart was being ripped out of my chest. The memories of my beloved Salone came flooding back - the heavy, humid air, the smell of saturday markets, the smiles of children who had faced more pain and adversity than I could even imagine, and yet had an abundance of joy because of their faith, and Musa Rogers - the little boy who had completely transformed my life and my knowledge of who God is.
Musa and I
So while the pain will become less piercing, and the pendulum will slowly balance, my friend and I will find the delicate balance of living in one place, and loving another. But there will be moments, when we least expect them, that will bring back that pain, and it will feel like a thousand knives stabbing you in the heart. But I think that might be a good thing. That pain, that paralyzing, stabbing pain, it means you're alive, and God's placed a passion so deeply in your heart, and is reigniting it in those moments.
As mentioned in my former posts, I really struggle with being content with where I'm at. I start to feel as though I am stuck, and will forever be in school, forever be stuck in a job, etc. I believe that God uses painful moments like these to remind us that He has bigger and better plans for us. That while we may be in a necessary step to accomplish something great, He isn't satisfied with where we're at, and He doesn't want us to be either because we're on the journey, not at the destination. I know it sounds cliché, but I'm suddenly reminded of the saying, "Praise God in the hallway". When I think about my most painful moments, they have primarily happened in "the hallway". Maybe those painful moments are God's way of showing us that this isn't the destination. That there are rooms far beyond what we can see, and all we need to do is praise Him in the hallway until those doors are opened.
As Miriam Adeney put it, "You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place." Sometimes I wonder if my heart can handle the calling of third world missions that God has placed upon my life, but in moments like these I am reminded of the abundant joy, happiness, and contentment I experience when I lay down my own desires, push my fears aside, and follow wherever He may lead. The reward is far greater than I could ever imagine.
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