Just by way of an update, I got a note on my door that little Balkissa was seen by a cardiologist and may have a sponsor for surgery in Switzerland. I don't know any more than that, but if I happen to hear anything else, I'll be sure to let you know.
I woke up this morning confused, staring at the bare walls beside my bed. It didn't look like my cabin, and for a second I thought I was in the wrong place. Until I pulled back the curtain to be greeted by everything we've accumulated over the past two and a half years, strewn like grass across the floor.
It's taken the better part of the last several days, interrupted by frequent naps to combat the rather nasty sinus infection I've got, to get it all stowed under our bed. I'm sitting here in a nearly-bare cabin, and in the quiet of this evening I can't believe this is happening.
We're leaving tomorrow. We'll each take our packs and a friend will drive us to the Ghana border. We'll walk through the dirt, stand in lines in ramshackle huts to have our passports stamped. We'll change any leftover Cefa to Cedis and then we'll barter for transport to Tema. It will cost extra if we want the air conditioning turned on, and we will not think twice about any of this, because this is the rhythm of our life; this is what we know.
There's a part of me that's so afraid to leave this, afraid that I'll never make it back. We've packed our things under the bed, an anchor pulling us back to this place, but I'm not going to be arrogant enough to assume that I know exactly what God's plan is for us over the next year. There's an entire world of heartbreak and joy just waiting for me on the other side of tonight, and God may just as easily send me to anywhere but back here.
One reader who responded to the call for prayer, Gwen, just recently introduced me to a Hebrew blessing, the Shehecheyanu.
Blessed are you Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.It's a prayer to be spoken over new things; the first time in the year you eat a fruit, seeing a friend you haven't seen in thirty days, the birth of a child.
I'm going to carry it with me as I go, because I'm afraid I'm going to spend too much time looking back. This is the part of me that sends roots, the part that has me crying alone in my empty cabin on the eve of the greatest adventure of my life. I need something to remind me of the sheer beauty of discovering new things, because right now I don't want to go.
I know it doesn't make sense, to be so reluctant to start a new chapter when it promises so much. It's just that I'm so tangled up in this place; my heart is woven deep into the red soil of West Africa, and I don't know if I know who I am outside of it anymore.
But go we will, whether I'm ready or not. The ship will sail without us to South Africa and then on to Sierra Leone in the new year while we search out God's heart in other parts of the world.
First stop: Zimbabwe.
