it must be the march air

Since coming to Malawi, I have never wanted to stay longer than necessary. I have no interest. No inclination. I wouldn’t know how to be a full-time missionary. But. Tonight my eyes were opened just a millimeter to what it possibly could be like to be a missionary, a real one, I mean..

It started with the book, “Africa Rice Heart”, by a girl named Emily who worked in Chad as a nurse. Go Emily. This girl is awesome. A hippie with a heart for service. I was intrigued.

But, then I look at me. I’m already in Africa. But.

I cringe, turn up my nose at so much. When did I become so high strung? Since when have I cared? Since I saw Europe, and how beautiful things could be? I don’t know. Maybe since the divorce. I’m not sure.

But I’m just not outfitted for this work here in Malawi. It’s too clean, too bearable. I am getting so bored and restless. I hardly sleep, waking up throughout the night, tossing and turning on my hard bunk. Maybe I need more exercise.

Anyway, I just wish I wasn’t so bogged down by fears. Fears of going without, fears of being in unsafe situations, fears of getting hurt. Or worse than fear, worse than anything, I am trapped by rising indifference. I wish I could be like these hippies with hearts for service. But I have a feeling that my style, my interests, are more suited for old European libraries. Why is my lamonin holding together such a selfish mess of interests?

Why can’t I be cool, and not so worried? Why can’t I be fearless? How does one become fearless? This African experience has left me without. I didn’t get what I was hoping to come for. I am possibly even more selfish than before. I wanted to be broken, to change lives, and to have mine changed, like Emily. But no. I’m stuck here in “Africa For Beginners” land, where nothing happens and the biggest scandal is being stared at by some vacant-eyed, shoeless guy on the street. My compassion has dried up, my patience is worn thin, I am so tired of the monotony, so tired in general. Everything is so easy. Why, God? Why did I need to come here?

I need to know the answer.

Will I ever know it?

I need to let you know, Lord, that I have to come back. Not to Malawi, but to some other “Graduate Level” Africa experience. I’m not done yet. I got nothing this year. To feel like I’ve done something here, there is no alternative but to come back.

Maybe…maybe that’s why God sent me here. Because He knew that I wouldn’t have my fill, that I would absolutely have to come back in the future. It secures my return.
God, please, let me come back again someday soon, to a different place, and actually experience it this time around.

Maybe this place was warming me up. Getting most of my kinks worked through. I’ve worked through a lot of myself this year.

Issues have surfaced, been analyzed, addressed and taken care of. I’ve learned so much about people, myself, the world. I feel very much expanded, culturally, in that way. I feel very broad, happy with my views, confident in who I am.

But now, or sometime very close in the future, I want to go deeper.

I need more.

More God, more service; less pretty, more real. I need in-the-face, heart-shaking, ear-pounding work, that will shock the very blood from my body. I want to be in, giving my own blood, loving to the point of death, finding the treasure in the field so to speak. I need You, God. And I need to do this. You see this, saw it the whole time. Forget Europe. It has its own worries. I want you, all of you, and I know I will find it here.

Please, God, take me by the hand and lead me there.