Why the Boy Threw the Clock Out the Window

Why did the boy throw the clock out the window?

So he could see time fly!

Well, my friends, I do not have to throw my clock out the window to see time fly...it is already flying by far too fast as it is. I was astonished this morning when I realized that it has been six whole months since I first set foot in Zambia, Africa on a one-month-long missions trip.

Six months.

Sometimes it seems like six years, and other times it seems like yesterday.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about this strange, special place that has so occupied my mind, and the wonderful, beautiful people who have so occupied my very heart.

The day I arrived home, my thoughts were so full of Africa that I could not sleep without dreaming Zambia, could not speak without telling about Zambia, could not eat without recalling the Zambian food that had sustained me for a whole month, could not think without remembering Zambia, could not even walk down the street without seeing something that brought back memories of Zambia like a flash. Every taste, every sight, every smell, every sound startled me, either because of its similarity to my beautiful Zambia or because of its stark opposition.

I welcomed the memories. I held on to the dreams.

I thought, "Soon the day will come when you won't think about Zambia every waking hour, so enjoy it while you can." Well, "that day" still hasn't arrived. I still think of Zambia every day, although thankfully with a little less intensity than in the beginning.

When I was preparing to go to Zambia, so completely unaware of what my future held there, I thought, "When a place really grabs ahold of someone's heart, sometimes after they return they'll sob uncontrollably into their pillows at night because of their longing to be back in that special place. I wonder if I'll be like that."

You'd think. At least, you would if you knew how emotional I can be.

I was wrong. After I returned, I would clutch at my pillow, wishing I could tear it to shreds or punch it or throw it through the window, because I couldn't cry even when I tried to make myself. I wondered why. I still do. Only now I know, as I could not have guessed before I went to Zambia, that my desire to cry, the steady ache in my heart, the overwhelming parade of thoughts that came every single day and night...now I know that these did not come because of the beautiful, special place I was in. I was not longing for the scrubby trees or the red dirt or even the vast display of stars that shone overhead each night.

I was longing for the people.

In Zambia, a very wise person told me this: "It's not the places you go, it's the people you're with."

I can't think of a single thing in that statement that I could possibly argue with in this case.

Sure, I miss the scenery. Sure, I miss the beautiful stars. Okay, and sure, I even miss the pet cat that sat outside of my cabin door and squalled at me. I could cry for those things. (Well, maybe not for the cat...)

It is the relationships, the new friends, the new family that God gave to me. Somehow I had never realized that after meeting all of these people, after blessing them and being so blessed in return, that a day would come when I would have to say goodbye.

It is the prayers, the tears, and the laughter that tug at my heartstrings. It is the spiritual conversations, the lively debates, the beautiful fellowship, the singing and dancing that make me so happy, and yet so full of longing. It is the joy I saw written on so many faces, the chorus of "Amen, and praise the Lord!" that spilled from their lips, the eagerness of young men and women to share the gospel that both inspires me and causes me to miss these people very deeply.

I was so convicted, so challenged, so broken by God there. I was uplifted and renewed. I was changed. I was taught a great many things that, without this trip to Zambia, would have likely taken years to learn in some other not-so-challenge-ridden environment.

I am so blessed.

The pain of being separated from the Africans and the American missionaries I met there is bittersweet, my friends. Bittersweet. There is pain, yes. There are moments of "I-wish-I-could-just-let-it-all-out," yes. But in the midst of those moments, there is yet a Hallelujah chorus playing in my ears.

Without my Lord and Savior, my life would only have the bitter and none of the sweet. Without bitter, there is no sweet. My life is richer having spent one month serving in Africa -- if only I could explain to you how much richer! And my life after serving in Africa has been richer and fuller than I would have thought possible the day I stepped back into the United States of America. Since I have returned, God has presented to me opportunities to make His name -- and His glorious salvation! -- known to others, opportunities that I can clearly see that He prepared ME for while I was in Zambia.

Even as I think of my dear brothers- and sisters-in-Christ who are in Africa and am filled with the desire to return there someday, I know full well that I am blessed in my pain. To be filled with such good memories -- so good that my heart still aches when I think of them -- is a blessing indeed.

Many of the Psalmists who begin their songs with lamentation and cries to the Lord for help will often conclude with a praise to the Lord. From their sorrow and anger they will do an about-face, sometimes so abruptly that it is almost startling, and begin to bless the Lord for His lovingkindness and faithfulness in the midst of their hurting.

As I close here, I want you to know that I am doing the same in my heart. I began with a measure of confusion and frustration, but it is with gladness that I think of what God has done through my trip to Africa and what He is doing still.

Bless the Lord, O my soul!
Praise the Lord!