Really, it's not even my story

I don't know how to write what I'm thinking, but here's goes nothing.

Thursday was a hard day. I was a couple days into living with a Muslim family. I thought my head was going to explode from trying to learn Djoula and French at the same time. I wasn't looking forward to eating my weight in rice and fish again. (People talk about losing weight in Africa- that's impossible, they will feed you until you absolutely explode). I was hot, sweaty, my feet were covered in mud. I really wanted a real toilet, and not to have to squat.

It's funny because it was actually only a couple hours earlier that I had been thinking that it wasn't so bad- I could totally give up all my modern conveniences and all the things I'm accustomed to in America. In the moment though, I was pretty annoyed.

I went to my room and prayed. I knew I needed an attitude adjustment and God was the only one who could do it. I wasn't there for long when Horuna (It was his family I was staying with) came to tell me it was time for Christine and I to take turns with the bucket bath before supper. I took a deep breath and ventured back outside, sat down next to Horuna and his mother to wait my turn to wash. Little Kayatou (6 year old girl) crawled into my lap. I looked up and the moon was so big, clouds glided across the sky. Suddenly it was all I could do to refrain from bursting into tears.

You see, coming from America to Africa is nothing compared to what Jesus did when he came from heaven to earth. I mean, I don't really know what bathroom facilities are like in Heaven but Jesus, the Lord, Creator of the universe, who holds the world in his hands, chose to leave heaven (which is perfect, you know) and be born in a stable (which is for animals, not even humans). It would make a lot more sense if Jesus had left heaven to be born in a palace or at least someplace with air conditioning, but he grew up in a small town, in a poor family, he walked everywhere when he could have chosen to ride in a car. But how better to love everyone, right? He gave up everything, for all people-the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor, he's experienced splendor beyond our comprehension and lived in a place not even fit for humans.

I hugged Kayatou a little tighter, looked at the moon again, listened as Horuna and his mother spoke in a language I don't understand, and said a prayer of thanks because God is so good. Jesus lived on earth for 33 years because he loves us and he knew that the story didn't end at 33 years, but that our stories would end on earth if he didn't come. So because Jesus spent 33 years on earth, I can surely spend 5 days with in an African home, or even longer. My story doesn't end when my life on earth does, my story doesn't end. Really, its not even my story anyway, it's God's story.