. . . when you're too in love to let it go, but if you never try you never know just what you're worth

When you break it down, besides all of the cultural stuff that I've had to work through, essentially, I'm realizing I'm (too?) in love with my culture, with my home. (that's odd, I never would have thought it to run so deeply, despite my love for a lot of things of my country)

I like to strike it out on my own, but I don't love it.
I love doing things on my own, but only for a time.
I love learning about a new culture, but only when I can keep at least something of my own.

See, I believe that I've had a lot to work through simply because I've never seen this time away as merely 6 months. Sure, that's what it is. Absolutely.

But it's not too. Because if I'm all about what I'm doing, it's what I will be doing. For a lot longer period of time.

My deepest blessing has become my greatest need and my hardest curse to break.
My community.

Composed of family and friends.
Knitted together by the familiar, by culture, by comfortable religious context.

The things is, my friends are slowly spreading themselves over the face of the earth. I am part of this process as well.
And community can be reformed and refound elsewhere.

God is everywhere (although here, that is hard to feel sometimes given the spiritual forces at work in this country).

Except, I have to be willing to do those things. To let go of my friends (in part, but never fully), to re-create community with people I don't know, to pray the presence of God into my experience here in Senegal.

Thus my time here, my work wherever, is all about calling.
This is why I was called here in the first place. To find my calling.
What people am I called to serve? My own? Or elsewhere?

. . .

I certainly haven't been terribly excited about dealing with a lot of the people in this culture. When I'm outside the villages (and even within them), it's pretty extractive. Demanding. It has everything to do with negotiation. Negotiation in order to survive.

What's hard for me is that I've never had to negotiate in order to survive. Life has simply been provided for. So when others do this with me, I get frustrated. It's interesting to think about, but pretty frustrating to deal with all the time.

I take it too personally, and yet then it's up to you not to say no too rudely. So, I dunno. I'm getting to a point sometimes where I just don't care. Words need to bounce off of me and execute themselves on the pavement. On the dirt roads. Otherwise, I might take it personally.

. . .

There are facinating Serere and Wolof cultures, amongst many others. Senegal is such a richly diverse country of many cultures.
In the villages, when and where relationships have slowly, subtly formed, I have begun to believe that perhaps all this is possible. That I might slowly find my place in it all.

But, ultimately, that question still remains. Is it the culture I am meant to speak to? Does my 'call' change my own perception, my own behaviour, my own attitude? Should it? Why does the 'call' make any difference anyways?

I am only hoping that God leads me to that place where my strengths are strong, my weaknesses weak, my efforts full, my energy hard to contain.

We're still working on it. I'm okay with that. I'm not making any fully formed decisions until later.

We're halfway through the process. It's been difficult; but it's been really good too. It keeps on going.

And so will my thoughts and my comments.

. . .

. . .

. . .

'Tears stream down your face when you lose something you can not replace . . . Tears stream down your face. I promise you I will learn from my mistakes. Tears stream down your face now.
. . .
Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones.
And I will try to fix you.'

. . .