The World Changes Every Day

I can tell I'm going to start sounding like a broken record in this blog, as I go on and on about how wonderful and inspiring and generous everyone we've met is. Today, after a meeting, a woman approached me and asked if I wore earrings. I didn't have any in today, but said that I normally do- at which point she pressed the earrings she'd been wearing into my hand. Later, I saw her remove her necklace and tie it around Lari's neck. Giving is done so naturally here- she didn't ask if the earrings were my style, or if Lari could see herself wearing the necklace, or anything like that. She didn't second guess her gift, as we so often do in the US- spending days agonizing about the right christmas present to get for someone, worrying if our offers are appreciated or not. This must be why Christian Science seems so easily shared here- people are confident in their gift. They seem to give out of love, not out of a desire to seem generous, or out of a sense ...

Before going on this trip, I visited the Brookline Public Library to look for books on the Republic of Congo or Cameroon. I found the Africa section, and all the shelves- especially the part dedicated to the Congo- were full of books about war and scandal, atrocities and darkness. I realized how my job on the trip would be to bear witness to the other Congo, a place of light and love instead of the "Dark Heart of Africa." What I didn't realize was how incredibly easy this would be. It started with our first enthusiastic hugs from Angelique and her sister at the airport- it took at least five minutes of hugs and greetings before she took the time to find out which one of us was which. Since that moment, we have been envealoped with the most wonderful love and light. It has shown itself in the curious hands of Sunday School students examining my hair and asking if it is real, the plastic bag full of avocados given to us after a meeting by one of the members, and the hotel e...

As our plane lands, over three hours late because of a delay in Paris, the passangers spontaneously break into applause. So many smiles- I've heard of Africa's smiles. We step out the door onto a staircase and I breathe the air. Africa smells like humidity mixed with smoke.

The plane is asleep, and I look at the stars outside my window. They're not that different- not at all different- from the ones I would have seen last night if I had looked aout my window as I lay in my bed, thinking about what was to come. And tomorrow night, when I look out the window of my Brazzaville hotel and think about where I've ended up, then too I'll see stars. Maybe different constellations, but still stars. There's something to that- something useful to remember. Something about me. The me that is comfortable and spontaneous and loving at home, the me that is loving or listens or laughs with my most trusted friends, the me that is overwhelmend at the beauty of a amountaintop, silently content and thanking God, that is the me that will look and listen and love in Brazzaville, in Nkayi, in Pointe Noire, in Dolisie. Because that me is me- the only me. And what I love in family and friends and mountaintops, that is what I will love in Sibiti and Yaounde and Doua...