Living in a small village in Africa has its wealth of different experiences. Last night we experienced the second “mini-riot” within a one year period. Listening to the yelling and chanting, knowing that we are only a few feet from it all, makes one fear for ones safety. Seeing the police pull out their guns just makes the situation a little scarier, as there is the added fear that we might witness something more violent.
As a young girl I lived here in Africa. Between the ages of 7 and 10 we lived, with my family, in the country of Ethiopia. We arrived there just around the same time as the communist soldiers from Russia and Cuba. They were there to train the government in communism and control. Everywhere we went we saw tanks and soldiers. Fear was everywhere. During this 3 year period, the boarding-school I went to grew smaller. Attendance went from 200 to 50 students, because the missionaries and diplomats were being sent home. At night our dorm parents would put on classical music to drown out the sounds of gunshots. We would have bomb shelter evacuation practice as part of our schooling. Eventually, my parents were driven from their home and we lived in the city for a few months. I became a “day-student”. On the way to school, there would be bodies on the side of the road…left there as examples of what the soldiers would do to insurgents. Images I will never forget.
We finally left Ethiopia to the safer country of Kenya. Living in Kenya was a much easier experience. But the fear stayed under the surface. Sudden noises would freak me out. I would hear of missionaries being attacked and robbed. There was even an attempted coup during the time we lived there, and my father and his friend were in the capital city to witness the rioting. (It’s amazing what children pick up from the whispered conversations of adults!) Life never felt fully safe.
Through it all, God was there. Even though there were moments of fear, there was still that knowledge that we were in Africa for a reason. Serving the people in any way that they could, was the sole purpose of my parents life. They had been called to spread the gospel, to teach life skills, and to help save lives through medicine. What greater purpose is there? God had called them. Life wasn’t promised to be easy, just that He would be there with them.
During a conversation with a friend last night…we were chatting online during the ruckus outside…all of this came back to me. Have I suffered from PSTD most of my life? Am I here to confront this issue, and deal with it? Is this why I came here, and brought my family with me? Is facing the fear head on a way to eradicate it once and for all?
I don’t know.
But why am I here?
What I do know, is that we are here for a reason…and for this season. We will stay here, believing that there is a plan in place. God is with us. He brought us here. He has surrounded us with people that care for our safety, and with people that pray for us. He has brought us to a place that is as safe as it can be on this continent. And He has given us His Word to remind us of our purpose…and His faithfulness.
“Your love, Lord, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies. Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep. You, Lord, preserve both people and animals. How priceless is your unfailing love, O God! People take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.” (Psalm 36:5-9 NIV)