Monday, September 26, 2011


I remember one night, feeling absolutely overcome with fear. I was alone on the compound except for the guard, and the reality of evil and darkness felt too close. I played Kristene Mueller's "Praise the Lord" over and over and over again until I finally didn't feel afraid anymore.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the death horn. There, whenever someone died in the community, a person would walk the streets blowing a trumpet and yelling the name of the person that had just passed.

I remember watching my neighbors wail over the dead body of their young son. A man carried the boy, wrapped in a sheet, back and forth in front of the family. The mother just screamed and screamed and screamed.

I can't keep these memories away. I rejoice that God gave me Africa. I praise Him because of what I've seen--not because it was always joyful, but because I gained perspective. I can't forget it. I won't forget it.

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