Home, But Not Exactly On The Range

I actually felt a little sad getting in the taxi for the airport. Africa was good to me. Yes, it was dusty and dirty. Yes, I was dusty and dirty. And yes, I know the exact ratios of sweat, bug spray, sunscreen, and river water necessary for making a human being feel as gross as is humanly possible.

I learned that Mirinda Fruity is possibly the best soft drink known to man. I learned that malaria medicine is excellent for the complexion. And I learned that the ant is arguably the most brilliant of all God’s creatures—or at least the most ambitious.

At the end of August 2008, Africa opened its arms and embraced me. I had become exhausted in every way by the madness that is New York City, but as the breeze of Lake Victoria blew across my care-worn face every day, the struggle and uncertainty of the last year slowly faded away. I fell into the joy of doing what I was made to do. I basked in the freedom of my calling. I was sloppy with creative juices. And when Africa saw me off at the end of September, I was myself again. I had been nurtured back to health and happiness by the Motherland. She gave me a new beginning.

Now I’m back in New York…and to a new beginning indeed. I’m homeless and jobless. I have no plans and no sense of certainty about anything at all—save one. I am certain that I’m about to write a book. I have no idea how it’s going to turn out, but I know that my task now is to pray, close my eyes, put my fingers to the keyboard, and write. No amount of uncertainty, hardship, or New York insanity can change the task so clearly before me.

When someone asks me what I do, from now on, I will not say, “I’m just a temp.” Nor will I say, “I’m a housekeeper,” “I’m an office monkey,” or “I’m a barista.” Even though I may be any of those things, my clear and decisive answer will be, “I’m a writer.” This is my new beginning.

Consider me an ant with an enormous crumb. Carrying that crumb to my ant lair is going to be difficult if I try to do it on my own. That’s why I need you to be with me. I can’t carry this thing by myself. You are not just my audience; you are my co-laborer. The accountability and encouragement you have already given me and will give me in the months to come have and will challenge me to do my best work and to do justice to the calling placed on my life.

Thank you for being with me thus far. Thank you for being with me in the future. The blog won’t stop because the trip is over. We’re in this for the long haul. I need you. I look forward to sharing my stories with you individually, so don’t hesitate to ask me a million questions next time you talk to me. It was tough to leave Africa, but because of you and because of the task ahead, it is really good to be home.