I have a confession to make. I used to resent people who went to Africa. It seemed so cliché.  Like there was some unwritten rule that in order to be a good Christian you had to go to Africa…or at least want to go to Africa. Of course this was also when I had no inclination whatsoever towards any kind of mission work anywhere. It’s strange to read that sentence back to myself. I can hardly remember feeling that way now. I can barely recall not having this burning deep inside of me to see the glory of God cover the earth as water covers the seas. 

Mercifully, things have changed. And, so, one month from today I will leave for Africa. I wish I was leaving today. I wish I had a one way ticket and not just a 10 day trip planned (don’t tell my mom that…she might cry).

Next month four others and myself will be heading to Mozambique to work with Sarah in her ministry to street children there. I have a number of emotions and thoughts running through my mind right now, but the one that overshadows all the others is fear. I’m not afraid of being in danger there. Of getting sick or being robbed or attacked or anything along those lines. The thing I fear…is being unchanged. I’m afraid of looking those children in the face and being unaffected by it. Of coming back home and returning to my everyday life as if nothing had happened. I’m afraid of forgetting what I haven’t even learned yet.

So today I’m praying. Praying to be changed…affected…moved. Praying to remember.