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A Post on "Real" Missionary Life

These guys were everywhere, only usually much bigger

Those who receive my posts via email would have recieved the first version of this post this morning; it has been edited a bit and I am republishing a better version here. 

My experience in Gabon was not one string of unabated happiness. 

We had a rainstorm after Easter that flooded our "dorm" hallway. The power was out in the first picture. 


The complaint shouldn't have been about not having water; the water was there, just not where we wanted it to be.

My backpack is on the left in the second picture. It sat in the water, in a wet and humid climate, a bit too long. This resulted in a dreadful, musty smell (only in my bag, not in the whole dorm), requiring me to wash it thoroughly, which was not a bad thing to do.  

This was missionary life! And honestly, there is a degree of satisfaction in some of these situations, but that's usually with the more dramatic ones like this, or writing by candlelight. The day-to-day privations could get old fast, which is why it was so good that there was no getting out of them. 

Not everyone was always easy to get along with, which is simply a human plight, but can be especially true in a foreign culture. Then there was some frustration as well as a sense of longing when faced with my own feelings:

"My heart is -- dare I say unfortunately -- ready to go home. I have seven weeks left and I hope they go quickly. I do love it here, and I wish I didn't think about leaving so much. I really want to enjoy and make the most of all my time. Part of it is being excited to travel again -- I love flying and the travel involved. I wish there were one place I could stay and never want to leave. Perhaps I thought that would be here -- being so happy that no matter how long I'm here, I'd always be sad to leave. But then, perhaps such a place is only found in Heaven."

There were the teeth-gritting, "I-really-want-to-go-home" moments: I recall one afternoon feeling particularly cross for whatever reason. I was hot and tired and just wanted to cool off with a shower and... there was no water. Or the power would be out, so the fan didn't work and it was hard to get to sleep. Or being homesick, the feeling of "if only I could just call my mom", but not having data or phone service, or anyone to borrow it from at the moment. There was water dripping through my wardrobe and making water stains on my clean clothes (that was not a happy realization), difficulty expressing myself with my limited French. There were also huge rats in the kitchen. (fortunately, they generally confined themselves to the pantry).

But in the end, it's not the miserable moments that permeate my memories. I don't even have over-arching recollections of being hot and sweaty all the time. I remember being happy.

There two verses from Isaiah which I think sum up the joy of mission work:

"Deal thy bread to the hungry, and bring the needy and the harbourless into thy house: when thou shalt see one naked, cover him, and despise not thy own flesh. Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thy health shall speedily arise, and thy justice shall go before thy face, and the glory of the Lord shall gather thee up." (Isaiah 58: 7-8)

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