Welcome to the "real" world, she says to me.

So, I've left. I left yesterday on a 10 PM flight from Lomé, and I'm currently sitting at the airport in Paris waiting for my connecting flight to London, then home to Jersey through JFK. Sort of anti-climatic end to the blog, don't you think? I was going to sit myself down before I left the ship, collect my "serious" thoughts and write a proper post about my "feelings" on leaving and whatnot (very girly of me, I know)-- but of course, like an idiot, I didn't leave nearly enough time to do all the things I needed to get done before I left. "Important" things like, you know, packing, or getting the signatures I needed to disembark the ship, or calling my mother. Yep, haven't called my mother yet (and yes, I hear the judgmental conga line in your head). I had exactly 19 minutes left before my departure from the ship at 7 PM to either say goodbye to the people I'd be leaving-- some of whom I'd probably never see again-- or to call my mother. I figured, it's OK, she'll deal, I'll call her in Paris.

Thankfully I've found some wifi at the airport (the ridiculously fast internet speed is freaking me out though; it's like *magic*) and I'm sitting, drinking a proper cup of coffee from a paper cup. With a lid. With REAL MILK. Of all the luxuries. However, this is quite unfortunate for the fellow who'll be sitting next to me on my next flight because I'm lactose, and I'm the kind of lactose where you can definitely tell, if you get my.. ahem, drift (tee hee).

Flight from Lomé was uneventful. One notable exception: apparently this is according to some international safety regulations, but once I was seated in the cabin I did get sprayed with peach-scented insecticide, which is one of those things that you never think will happen to you. Not in that it's such an outrageous thing, but the fact is, you'll never wake up and think to yourself, "Hm, I think I'm going to get sprayed with peach-scented insecticide today,"-- and if you do think those kinds of thoughts, you have problems my friend (just sayin'). If they're going to mass spray you with a mist of silent bug-killer though, at least they made it smell nice (it smelt like butterflies and rainbows; peach-scented butterflies and rainbow). How thoughtful.

(Side is a picture of the the sun rising over Paris. I've discovered, I really like sun rises & sun sets. This is probably something that most people realize when they're like, 3 years old, but really, who knew?)

I’m not one for goodbyes—- but I’ve found that if you disappear into the abyss without saying bye, people tend to get mad at you, so I went through some ten-thousand goodbyes yesterday. God provided some well needed composure, and most farewells to the crew went off without a hitch. The world is big, but the fact is, you’re white; you (most likely) live in the Western part of the world, and I tend to travel a lot, so I’ll probably see you again sometime in the future—- but I had a really tough time saying goodbye to some of the day workers here. You just never know. I’m not a crier—- really, I’m not—- but for some reason it got to the point yesterday I seriously couldn’t even look at Ghislain or John or Mama Tina without tearing up. But then Johan pointed out that if you don’t cry, you’re *obviously* a robot, so I guess it’s a good thing that I have the ability to cry. I wouldn’t want to be a robot. (Robots are scary.)



I’m also not one for summarizations, because I tend to get all sentimental and muck them up, but here goes anyway. God gave me these past three months in Africa. I’ve seen some amazing things. But more than that, I’ve met some amazing people. A couple of weeks ago I was feeling really down on myself—- the whole general, "woe is me, I-want-to-go-home" self-pitying going on—- but I read a passage in a book that made me see how much of a baby I was being:

"Of all creation, only people are said to be the bearers of the image of God. So people have the capacity to be the carriers of His presence like nothing else. We take long trips to see marvels like the Grand Canyon. Engaged couples plan far ahead so that they can honey moon at Niagra Falls. But if our eyes could see clearly, if our hearts were working right, we would fall to the ground in amazement at the sight of a single human being. They are the miracles."

I’ve slept on an African beach where the river meets the ocean; I’ve seen the brightest stars I have ever seen in my life underneath the African sky; I’ve hiked through a legit African jungle and have swum—- not to mention, nearly drowned-- underneath an African waterfall. But really, even after all of this, the people are what I will remember. The intense beauty of the people of Africa. Generosity with no bounds; laughter with no end. And the people of Mercy Ships—- they’ve challenged me in ways I didn’t even think possible, in what it means to serve with an open heart; what it means to show compassion with even the smallest of gestures; in what it means to really—- really—- live your life as a Christian. Rest assured, I have been fundamentally changed; thank you.


Like I’ve said before, I really suck at these sorts of things, goodbyes, telling people in concise, non-blubbery words how I feel about them, and I’m sure this time around was no exception. Hopefully you should all know who I’m talking about. And if you don’t, well, then, I’m probably not talking about you.

Just kidding.

.. Or am I?




And with that, I'll end with what just might be my favorite picture of life on the ship. May God bless you as much as He's blessed me.