We are arriving in Bamako tomorrow. The chaos and bustle of the capitol city contrasts so sharply with the simple tranquil life of Bougouni. I’m excited. I’ll be reunited with my jeans. It’s been a month and a half with only skirts and dresses. One of the girls wore a knee length skirt the other day and the team was scandalized. It’s crazy how two months ago I would have considered it long. Now my initial reaction is that it’s indecent and inappropriate. Being back in the states will be interesting. I wonder what else will be hard for me to get my mind around. Streets, sidewalks, traffic lights, driving, clothes, climate, food, people.

We had to say goodbye to Courtney this week. That was hard. My respect for missionaries who are faced with goodbyes way less temporal than mine rose even higher. I can’t begin to imagine what leaving like that must look like. To intentionally go away from everything familiar and comfortable for the lone reason of God’s Kingdom is completely against my selfish nature. I mean who really wants to live in a hut, eat mysterious food, and lose “connection” with the world. But maybe people that choose to do this really are connected. Not to the outside world, but to the One who is their world. At least they are living in an attempt to rescue the world from itself- to awaken it with the Truth. While we are busy watching the news and reading the paper, they are busy living for His message. That’s noble, great, honorable.

Tomorrow brings more goodbyes. The Camaras have had an invaluable impact on my life. There’s so much wisdom and love tied up in that family. Even after spending my days under the Mango tree, in class, and in their home there’s still more to soak up. The biggest thing that has impressed me about them is their ability to live and walk like He did. Everyone knows them, their car, their house, their faith. You could ask everyone in the city about this family and the first thing they would say is that they are followers of Christ. I don’t even think that my neighborhood would be able to say that. The boldness and nerve with which they live life is inspiring and convicting. I try to save face too often instead of being His face. And what am I trying to save myself from anyways? My insecurity? Pride? Fears? What I’m really doing is missing out on glorying in Him and what He means for humanity. I have so far to go, but He carries me.

It’s becoming harder and easier to be here all at once. I love that I’m learning and being challenged. That I’m learning who Tasha is and what being a daughter of God looks like when it’s played out on the pages of life. But lately I’ve been dreaming of home, of people who get me, of silly things like eating out and high heels and a real bed. And straight hair. My curls and I have reached an understanding, but I won’t be sad to see them disappear. Part of me can’t believe it’s half over. I feel like I haven’t done enough, lived enough, learned enough. Then I look back over who I was before I arrived here and I have to laugh a little. My neatly constructed view of life and God has been promptly dismantled and is lying in pieces. But I think that in all its mess and disorder it’s closer to reality. He has a way of turning everything upside down and around and inside out. Or maybe that’s what He has to do to right what we do with Him.