Sailing My Ship - Guest Post

It is that time of year...and I don't mean Christmas...I mean the end of December. Almost January.

January holds a lot of meaning for me. Over the years I have spent a lot of time in Africa in January.  When I went over for the first time I left part of my heart there.  I felt it.  And now each year like clockwork I find myself going back to:

Holding very sick babies. So sick that they might not make it back to the clinic the next day.  Malaria is a real killer.  I have met him.

Sharing my one granola bar with 10 village kids, when I know that is all they will eat today.  1 granola bar divided by 10...doesn't go far.

Cleaning flesh wounds 3 months old and infected beyond recognition on a 4 year old little girl because it was her responsibility to cook dinner over an open fire and she fell into that fire. Hands first.

The laughter. The pick up games of soccer. The giggles. The sheer amusement of ballon animals.

The hugs.

Let me tell you, I have always been loved, but there is no other place on earth that I feel more loved than Africa.

I was looking at my passport today and thinking how cool it was that I have filled 7 pages with stamps. 7 pages. If you pointed to each stamp I could tell you a story that would break your heart. Orphans, disease, poverty beyond what we can even begin to imagine in the United States.

I downplay that places I have been, what I've seen, and the stories I've been told. Sometimes because people don't want to hear.  Other times because I don't have the words to describe it.

Sometimes I am ashamed of my inability to share my experiences.

One of my favorite quotes: "A ship in port is safe, but that is not what ships are built for."

I have sailed in some pretty choppy waters, and I will be the first to say that being docked in port is nice.  Comfortable.

But...

You don't make a difference by being comfortable.  You don't leave a mark on this world by being comfortable.

The last thing I want is to get to the end of this life and realize that my ship doesn't even have a scratch on it, because I was too much of a wuss to take her out and put her through her paces.

Oh, no.  I won't let that be me.  I want to seek out the choppy waters, the uncomfortable.  'Cause that's where I will make a difference and where my mark will be.

That's all I got.

Written by my daughter, Lindsey, age 22, who has been all over the world seeking the and saving the lost. This post is especially poignant to me as I am still reeling from my "mission trip" time in China.