It’s
been an interesting few weeks in my homestay. There are such highs and yet also such times
of frustration and confusion. I’ve been
abnormally busy these past few days, and I’ve slowly realized that I can’t
actually function on overload for this long.
I’ve never tried to work 9:00 – 4:00 and remain enrolled in 16 credit
hours, much less do so while living in a totally new place and trying to learn
two languages at the same time. I say it
now and the realization of the impossible gives me the ability to let go, to
take a new look, and to re-prioritize.
We
took a week off last week from living with our host families and taking classes
and going to work, to explore a new part of Guinea. I had such a great time, and it was
refreshing to spend so much time in nature.
Dalaba, the city we stayed, is one of the most beautiful places; there
are flowers and greenery all over. We ate
some really good food and hiked to the most breath-taking waterfalls. We got stuck in the rain on the last day and
had to hike 40 minutes uphill back to the car soaking wet, but we smiled all
the way. We splashed in puddles and
waded across the road-turned-river, and when we finally made it back to the
car, it was such a relief to be warm again that being cramped together, ten of
us in a small car, for the hour ride back to the hotel was a good thing. It was a great trip to see and do, but it was
also great because it gave me time away from my busy life in Kankan to think
about all that I wanted to do and get out of these last six weeks, because,
believe it or not, we’re half-way through.
Crazy how fast time moves.
There’s a lot to do before I leave, and not lots of time to do it
in. But I have to be careful I don’t get
too busy again, because as much as I love it here, there’s a lot going on, and
if I want to be able to make the most of it, I need to make sure I make time
for myself, too.
Because
there’s been so much stress and emphasis on doing, there just hasn’t been much
time just for being. I’m used to being
busy, and I like being busy (or rather, I just don’t like being bored), but
Papa whispers in my ear while I run around trying to find Her, “I’m here; I am
with you already.” And even though I
hear it sometimes, it seems too good to be true; I keep looking because it
really can’t be that easy, it’s not allowed to be easy. I’m so undeserving, so small; I ignore
Papa’s voice because I don’t think I deserve it, because I can’t imagine why
She would choose me, why She would want to call me Her own. I’m so broken, shattered into pieces too
small and too distorted to put back together, but all the while Papa whispers
to me, holding me together. I thought
Papa would go away if I decided not to listen, but She had other plans. “I am here,” Papa calls to me, “and nothing
you can do can change that.” Can I
believe that, can I know it with my heart?
I feel it in the hands of those who have opened up their homes to me, to
feed me a meal and to feed my soul; I feel it in the voices of the many
gathered every Sunday night to just be together, to believe through each other;
I see it in the smiles of the broken ones, of those who have so many reasons to
be sad, and yet stare up at the stars with such hope, such joy, as we walk hand
in hand together across the field. I
sense it here, as I look up into the branches of the biggest tree I’ve ever
seen, wishing this tree could talk and tell me things, what it’s seen, what it
knows.
Can
I accept it? Can I allow myself to open
my heart to the love that Papa so freely gives?
Already there, already waiting, just for me. The seed was planted long ago, and yet I’ve
been searching so hard to find it. It’s
growing, and yet in my hurry and my want to see something else, I’ve overlooked
it. But Papa, I’ll never know why, She
calls me and she lavishes her love upon me regardless. I’m stubborn as a mule, but I’m beginning to
see. There are years of hurt and pain
that threaten to keep the world at arm’s length, but Papa keeps loving,
removing one layer at a time.
There’s
been a lot to see, a lot to do; lots of comings and goings, moving and
making. It’s not over, either. There’s still lots of work to do, but Papa,
She’s got it covered. There are papers
to write and people to interview; there’s cloth to be woven, and bogolan to be
painted. There are 40 more days of
homestay confusion, of comings and goings, and nights out with friends. But there’s also tea time and self-time, time
for walks and time to stare up at the clouds and think. Time to write and reflect and remember. Each day is a blessing; I look around and see
Papa’s fingerprints over everything, and a smile slowly spreads over my
face. Slowly, softly; sometimes I don’t
even realize it, but it’s there, returning the love I feel so fortunate to
receive.
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