Africa? Really?

I was the kid who prayed

“Dear God, please don’t ever send me to Africa. I’ll do anything else, but not Africa. Please.”

I’m not sure why. I guess I thought Africa would be a hot, dusty, unfriendly, bug-and disease-ridden torture chamber, eerily reminiscent of that eternal destination that is also hot. In my childish eyes, only missionaries who were either very holy or very desperate went to Africa. You know, the ones who wanted to be a missionary at all costs, even if it meant going to {insert the place you prayed against as a kid here}. Why would anyone ever want to go there?

Don’t judge me. I was a kid. And the great thing about being a kid is that you change.

‘When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.’ (1 Cor. 13.11)

Right on, Paul.

So now, in a week, I will be in Africa. And I’m excited. Like, actually almost-jumping-out-of-my-skin, sometimes-I-can’t-sleep excited (the I-CAN’T-sleep excited will come on Wednesday next week). What gives? I’m not very holy (ask my car. as it heard me ranting about P-ville traffic this morning). I’m not very desperate either; at this point in my life, God has not called me to be a full-time missionary and I’m perfectly ok with that. Moreover, we didn't even start out planning a missions trip--it was just a way to use two weeks of vacation time!

Well, it’s kinda a long story. That I am beginning today and finishing tomorrow. And maybe Sunday too. I mean, Jennifer’s in Canada right now and I kinda doubt she’ll have time to post.

So you get to read my rambling thoughts for a couple days.

Tough luck, I know.