I love mornings. No really, I actually do. Throughout my
college career, I was usually the first one out of bed, before all my
roommates. This was partially due to early classes and even earlier workout
routines, but also because my introverted personality loves to bask in the
stillness of the dawn.
This is my first morning back in Swaziland after a six-week
furlough in the States. Over the past four months or so, I’ve become less and
less of a morning person. I became tired. I love this work in Swaziland, but
it’s exhausting. I had become physically and emotionally drained, more than I
could ever imagine. Some nights I’d be in bed as early as 8PM, and refuse to
get up no earlier than 9 or 10AM, only if I had to. Fatigue? Stress? Probably.
I needed a break.
However, my trip to the States was less than restful. I was
in six different states and ten different airports and countless couches and
air mattresses and guest rooms during that six-week period. I had very few opportunities
to be still and take in my surroundings or even spend quality time with God. I
was in a world that never sat still or silent, even for a moment. I enjoyed my
time back in America, but it wasn’t exactly what I anticipated or thought I
needed.
It’s 5:30AM here in Swazi. I’m not awake by choice – jet lag
has kept me up for the past 20 hours. But this is amazing. Outside my window
are the familiar rundown buildings and purple flowered trees. There’s laundry
hanging from a balcony across the street. Occasionally joyful voices speaking
rapid siSwati wander past. Bird are singing, dogs are barking. All so familiar,
yet so fresh at the same time.
Maybe I needed to be overwhelmed by the busyness and
franticness of America in order to finally find peace and solace here.
And in the midst of it all, I know God is taking care of me.
I got overly emotional at the Denver airport on my way out a few days ago,
because the airline ladies checking my luggage made me remove a few pounds from
each of my bags. I was annoyed. I had three suitcases stuffed mostly with items
and materials for the girls and workshop, and very few things for myself. I had
to remove a few bottles of body spray, which is such a small thing, but it’s
one of the luxuries I was looking forward to going back to the hot and smelly
African summer. I couldn’t put them in my carry-on, so I left them with my
parents and pouted all through security. I was annoyed at the situation, but
also with myself, for being so crabby over an insignificant material thing.
I’m not living in Africa to have an American life. My
treasures are in Heaven. I have the basic clothes and toiletries that I need to
survive, nothing more, nothing less. I am blessed with an amazing apartment
just a few blocks from downtown and a bed to call my own. It’s simple, and I
love it so much.
While I was in the States, I offered a short-term missionary
to stay in my apartment for a week. It was the least I could do, since she has
done so much for our ministry, and I wasn’t going to be there to use it anyway.
Last night, after dinner with Kate and hugging and kissing all of the girls at
the girls’ home, I settled back into my place and started unpacking. In my
closet, there was a green gift bag without a note, which I later found out was
a thank you gift from this missionary. Inside…a bottle of body spray, along
with shower gel and lotion.
It’s such a small thing that probably seems silly to someone
who’s been awake for a normal number of hours (unlike myself). But sometimes I
need the small reminders like that. I am giving my life to Him, and He sees
that. He knows that. He’s looking out for me. He knows exactly what I need and
when I need it, whether it’s rest, companionship, strength, or body spray.
