Worst missionary ever, huh?  Yup.  There was no electric fan.  I couldn’t stand the heat.  I had come directly from the winter wonderland of the French Alps, people, and there was no freakin’ fan!

I gotta remind you of who I am, in case you forgot between the time you read my last post until now.  I don’t make my own yoghurt.  It’s available here!  Heck, drinkable yoghurt is available here, ya know the kind where the packaging has a little straw and you just rip off the wrapper and drink.  AH but the health benefits of making your own yoghurt!  Stuff the health benefits….d’ya know how stressed out living here can make a person?  Rock on to those of you who do make your own yoghurt. I wanna hang out with you more cuz maybe I would chill out.  And don’t get me started on sourdough starters.  I swear I will hear about sourdough starters in heaven.

I use these examples because to me these two health conscious and money saving approaches to yummy staples epitomize “Super Woman”.  And obviously all women in missions are Super Woman because they have left the comfort of their homes surrounded by family and friends and live out in difficult places.  NO!  I don’t feel like Super Woman.   I am the arm, the leg, the knee.  I am part of the body, just doing my bit.  I’m definitely not Super Woman.  I was called to go, as you are called to pray or as you are called to make money and give  so I can go.  I’m tired of this powerful struggle in my head to be me, the fashion-loving God-lover and the Super Women missionary I feel like people want  me to be.  If I have to be the worst missionary ever then I’ll be OK with that, because it may just keep me out here for 10 years.

So back to the lack of fan.

We’d been in town a few days at this point.  I walked out on to our compound, which you need to imagine…lots of houses facing each other,  grassy patch with swing and slide… and a whole bunch of kids running around.  I walk out on the verge of spontaneous combustion.  Fuming mad because I feel totally helpless to solve a simple problem.  You can’t hop  in the car and drive down to Argos or Walmart.  You have to know a man, who knows a guy, who buys from a man who sells fans …..keeping up?  Then I’ll continue. So it’s not simple and it’s beyond frustrating (speaking from first world problems).  But still I need to buy a fan.  Sadly, I was the only single person on the face of the earth who knew not to approach me and ask how I’m doing.  Someone quickly made the biggest mistake of their day and asked me the passersby question.  To cut a long hour short, after crying to at least five different mothers on how I needed to buy a fan, I finally realized it went a lot deeper than my lack of luxurious magical wind maker.  I was struggling to adjust to the sights and smells and limitations of this new world I found myself in.  (You’ll be happy to know that someone gave me two small battery powered fans that were completely hopeless 😉  But they were so sweet about offering them.)

Bahaha, looking back is amusing.  I went through this ugly process they call culture shock and God floated me to the top of the water where I’m no longer doing a frantic doggy paddle, desperate to keep my mouth above the water, but to the point where I can float on my back while looking up at the sky and let myself go with the waves.  “God is the one who enables you to want and to actually live out his good purposes” (Philippians 2:13 CEB).