Dear Sponsor

Last Friday afternoon I sat on the breezy porch of the Training Center, at a table with our social workers and several children who had come to write letters to their sponsors. One little boy was sitting next to me, thinking hard about each phrase he wanted to say, then quickly writing it down. After several minutes he proudly handed his finished letter and drawing over to us to review.

Words were misspelled, punctuation was lacking, and the grammar wasn’t all there, but the letter was beautiful anyway. I couldn’t help thinking about how excited all the sponsors will be when these letters show up in their mailboxes.

During the past few weeks, staff members have been handing out stationery during regular home visits, giving a few suggestions on what the kids might write to their sponsors, but largely leaving it up to them. The completed letters are brought to me for translation, which means I get to read them all.

To be sure, many of these kids don’t understand the full scope of what sponsorship means. They especially don’t realize what a blessing their letters are for those on the receiving end. But the truth is there no matter what—because of sponsorship, these children are able to go to school, get quality healthcare, and hear about Jesus.

It’s so easy for me to forget. I see the success stories, and I forget. I forget that many of those who are now healthy and happy, have come from dark places, and have experienced deep pain that I can’t even imagine.

In letter after letter, I read expressions of sincere thanks and am reminded that this ministry really does change lives.

All the feels

It’s really been starting to hit me lately that my time here in Ivory Coast is almost over.

In two months, I’ll be boarding a plane to go back home, and that’s giving me all the feels.

For one thing, I’m excited. I miss my family and friends. I miss living in a place where the language and culture are familiar and a basic conversation doesn’t require much brain power. I miss wearing sweaters and wrapping up in a fuzzy blanket when it’s chilly. And it’s exciting to think about getting all of these things back.

I’m also nervous. This upcoming move is a major transition and I don’t know exactly what it’s going to look like yet. Where am I going to live? What am I going to do? I don’t know. And the not-knowing makes me uncomfortable. I could end up somewhere amazing doing something I love. Or I could not. Plus there’s the very real possibility of reverse culture shock. This is the longest I’ve been in a foreign country, and I’m anticipating that “home” might not feel quite like I expect it to.

And of course, there’s a part of me that’s feeling a little sad. Despite the challenges of living and working here, I really enjoy it most of the time. I have my friends, co-workers, and routines that feel familiar and comfortable now. Over the last couple of months I’ve started to really feel that my work is useful and making an actual difference in the ministry. But I’m about to have to say goodbye to all of that, at least for a while.

As I’m sitting here thinking about this cocktail of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and sadness—I realize that this is exactly the combination of things I was feeling seven months ago, as I was preparing to come here. And yet, everything worked out. It hasn’t been easy every second of every day, but it has been really, really good and I’m so thankful. I guess the best thing I can do now is to trust that the same God who carried me through that transition, is right beside me during this one, too.