The last one

It was more than five months ago, but I think there are some scenes in your life that will be burned into your memory forever.

I let my mind wander and I'm right back in Africa, just outside of the market in the village.

It's early evening and it has just started raining - and I mean hard - the kind of rain that'll soak you in a matter of seconds. The sun has started to go down but it doesn't matter because you can't really see it anyway. The street goes empty as people duck under cell phone kiosks and little "stores". I'm one of the ones in a kiosk, sitting on an old wooden bench that wobbles if I move a little bit too much. I'm careful not to lean back too far; if I do, my back will get wet from the rain shooting through the slots of the wooden sides.

To my right is my teammate, Danica, and to my left is a three-year-old girl who had come into the kiosk just a few seconds too late. She's wet and shivering and she huddles into my side. As I dry her little arms and face with the sleeves of my shirt, I notice her eyes are getting heavy and she's trying [in vain] to stay awake. And so I pull her up onto my lap and wipe away the rest of the rain, and she is asleep almost instantly. And I thank God for the little life that has taught me about his goodness, about his joy, about his peace.

And Danica, who absolutely loves this girl and has been thinking about life here and what all that entails, says, "It's just not fair. That little girl you're holding - her life expectancy is a lot shorter than yours." And she looked down at the sound asleep three-year-old and said (more quietly but with more resolve - I know how much she loves this child), "I would give my life for her...I would trade our lives if I could." And I wish she could. Chances are, as a girl living in Africa with HIV, her life isn't going to be a walk in the park.

But now I'm no longer in Africa - I'm in a small town near St. Louis, in my noiseless room, under my favorite blanket. There's no dust on my feet, so I know it must be real :) I'm home. Where my family is, where I've grown up, where I'm understood and where I understand.

The time I spent in Africa was short - really, really short. [warning! lame analogy coming up.] If my life were a movie, the Africa scene would have been about two minutes. But those two minutes change the way I reflect on the beginning of the movie and color the way I see the rest of the movie [you were warned. :)].

So I'm thankful for everything I saw and learned - for the lessons I learned that didn't even need words. I'm thankful for missionaries who give up so much because they see the needs of a lost world. I'm thankful for grace that can completely turn the world upside down.

My mind drifts back to Africa every day. I think about how unfair it is that there are children who are born with HIV. I think about how unfair it is that there are people --hundreds of millions of people--who live their entire lives without ever hearing that Jesus loves them and calls them into a life of hope and significance. But I also remember the Sunday mornings that churches in different villages around Ivory Coast are gathering to worship God. And the pastors who are being trained to teach and preach the Word of God. And the HIV positive children who are receiving ARVs (like the three-year-old in the village). I see God's Kingdom being built there with every child, every pastor, every church. And I'm thankful, and I'm really excited. We get to serve the best God.