Dear Africa,

I’ve made it home safely. The thirty’ish hours of flying weren’t the high of my journey, but they did mark a tangible reminder of how distanced our two worlds are. My mom used to make me write thank-you notes when I received a gift; today that requisite seems a most minimal privilege. I have so much to thank you for, Africa, and so much to hold onto after a summer on your soil. What began as my attempt to come and serve you, turned-out to be just as much about you serving me.

You served my perspective, exposing a lifestyle completely different from that which I know.
You humbled lenses of my self, my world, and my God.
You exhausted me to a point of matchless refreshment.
You ignited my views, vision and hope for the Church.
You smiled at me, and enhanced understandings of my own smile.
You taught me how to give when I don’t have.
You taught me how to receive when I don’t give.
You loved me in my weakness, led me in my fear and carried me in my sorrow.
You showed me that what I’m used to is easier, but also that what I’m used to, and what is easier, isn’t always better.
You found me dirty, redefining my understanding of clean.
You showed me the face of Jesus through the eyes of AIDS.
You showed me the face of faith through the eyes of a child.
You exposed the fragilities of life, but also the tenacities.
You helped me feel exposed, vulnerable and tired, but also freed, purposed and awake.
You forced me to believe blindly.
You feasted with me at a table set with questions, not answers.
You challenged me toward contentment—when I have little and when I have much, when I am well fed and when I am hungry, when I am in abundance and when I am in need.

I thank God for you, Africa, and ask that He’ll continue etching you on my heart to pray for, live for and die for. I have become convinced in your hands that losing my life for the sake of Christ's is, in fact, the very vessel that finds it. I will not bid you farewell, for I’m not good at goodbyes, nor am I convinced I won’t be seeing you again soon. Until then, may the peace of God go before you, as He gently leads us into a greater understanding of who He is, who we are, and the perplexing freedoms confronting that middle.

With Love,
abbie