“Sometimes we hold a romantic connection to the past. It serves (and feels) like a rubber band that pulls us back to something that no longer exists.”

– Bruce S.

In my case, my recent return to Kenya to speak at a women’s retreat was a two-week, technicolor revelation of God’s work in my life over the last twelve years. It culminated in an evening of emotional release and a “sudden insight and revelation” that brought me to a new level of peace and healing.

There’s a saying I’ve often heard in regard to Africa. It goes something like this statement from Soren Smith on Facebook, “When asked I always say that whoever comes to the African continent, and especially the southern part, will get ‘The African Disease’. You will either ‘hate it’, and want to get away as soon as possible – or you will ‘Love it’, and never want to leave again.”

That disease befell me sometime in 2005 during our third time in Uganda and it’s been pulling me back for twenty years. If you know my long story, you know that God moved in my heart to serve God in Africa with my husband Chris and our family while we were serving short-term in Uganda. The words that weren’t my own were, “Get on board.” God made it clear that He was the one compelling Chris to move and that my “calling” was to “go when He says go and stay when He says stay.”

I didn’t realize how often that calling would be applicable, but that’s what I’ve been obeying ever since: Lesotho in 2011, home in 2013 after Chris’s death, Kenya five months later, back home in 2015, selling my household and moving back to San Diego in 2016, and then the “long wait to return” until this month, nine years later. My colleagues and friends at the AIM home office can testify to my undignified begging to go back, even for a visit. The answer from my Heavenly Father and earthly bosses was “no” for nine years because they were guiding me in caring well for my family. God used a change in plans in Kijabe to open the door to speak and even provided for Brent to go with me.

From the moment I stepped out into the night air of Nairobi and breathed in the distinct smell of distant smoke, exhaust, and the earthy wildness of the place, I felt the familiarity of “home.” Yet, the obvious changes over the course of nine years served as the prompt for my processing from day one to the last. The theme I spoke to the women the first weekend was the unpacking of my life and lessons I’ve learned through Scripture: from salvation (the woman at the well), the “bitter blow” of Chris’s death (Ruth), the “battles” that raged in the aftermath (Deborah), and then the tender healing that God brought through burn-out (Mary). He has taught me “what is better” (Luke 10:41) and was using that familiar place to make new connections in my soul. Fresh illustrations from Scripture and life welled up inside of me and I felt like I would explode if I was forced to hold my sharing any longer.

CJ, a colleague and new friend from our new organization, Paraclete Mission Group, traveled with us and led worship. I had a clear sense she was the one who was best suited for this retreat. She and I have common wounds, burdens, and comfort from the Lord and I knew she would usher us into an authentic space with God. As I reflect back on the trip, I realize He used her in my life too. She was a human anchor to the present and our growing friendship and partnership in ministry was a frequent hint that I was just passing through.

Throughout the weekend, I was reminded of the weakness of my own body and the truth that I am just a vessel. Jet lagged and weary, sleep was illusive and more like hours of feigning comfort and rest in a horizontal position. Time after time, I’d ask God for strength and words and He delivered. Immediately following the sessions, women would approach me who needed to unpack something that resonated with them. I couldn’t help seeing clearly that I am living out the fulfillment of Romans 8:28. God is using the hardest of my ‘bitter blows’ for good and for His purposes.

The whole trip was sprinkled with a variety of both planned and unplanned reunions with friends and former colleagues: my house helpers and friends, Joel and Ann, RVA friends, and people who I had worked with as a mobilizer and are now serving on the field. It was as if my physical body was too tired to contain the joy and richness of the full circle moments. Since it was Brent and CJ’s first time in Kenya, my friends asked for and received local rates for a safari in a conservancy. At that point, God showcased His magnificent and majestic creation. We weren’t even a week in at that point, and as I stepped onto the deck of our luxury safari tent, I looked out at the view of the savannah, past the burbling stream in front of us and said out loud, with Brent as a witness, “God, this trip has been unreal. I am so beyond thankful to be here, but if you could just make a giraffe appear here in this spot, that would be such a gift.”

Thirty minutes later, Brent called from outside, “Michelle! Come see, quick!”

One lone giraffe sauntered across our view through the tall grass and disappeared out of sight as it continued its afternoon walk on the other side of the stream. Yes, I have a picture to prove it!

We said goodbye to CJ two days later after dropping her off at a remote airstrip in the Maasai Mara. Then, after one more day of communing with lions, giraffes, spotted genet cats, a huge porcupine, wildebeasts, hyenas, zebras, and the rest, we set off for the guest house that was so special to my kids and me on most of our school breaks from RVA. As I sat in the back seat of the van listening to Brent’s conversation with our driver Philip, nausea grew inside of me. Whatever I had picked up brewed and fermented in my system for the three and a half hour, pot-holed drive until we finally made our way up the bougainvillea-lined driveway.

My brain knew the property had changed ownership and that it was under renovation. The new owners had done their due diligence to notify us well in advance and give us clear expectations about our visit, but my emotions and heart weren’t prepared for what I saw as my eager eyes scanned the once familiar gardens and took in the view. The main house that was so dear to us was demolished. The exterior walls still stood, but the character and custom woodwork and quirky, unique furnishings that had been lovingly crafted and placed by the previous owner for his wife were gone. Only a pile of dusty rubble remained.

There I was in a place that used to be familiar, in a country I once called home, with Traveler’s Diarrhea like a temporary tourist or something. Sorrow overwhelmed me and the smell of the delicious food being prepared by the chef made me feel like retching. My meltdown was imminent…

Jenetta, the woman who now oversees the property and guest house, sat across from me in the living room. Her blue eyes looked past mine and into my soul and her words drew my emotions out of the deepest parts of my being. In her smooth and empathetic English accent, she spoke the words that opened the floodgates, “When we carry guilt and shame, it gets in the way of our complete healing.”

I had a basic awareness of my sorrow and grief in the moment, but the guilt and shame must have been hiding out. With light shed on it, I began to cry. Being in that place magnified the fact that I was in a sacred space without my kids and my youngest daughter’s birthday was the following day. I wasn’t with them and I felt guilty. On top of that, all of the loss, international transitions, and stress of our life heaped on the shame. Surely, my decisions had profoundly affected my children. As the tears flowed, Jenetta spoke again, “You need to let yourself cry. Allow the toxins and negativity to leave your body through your tears. It’s the only way to feel better.”

With the encouragement of Brent and Jenetta, and a promise from the chef to save my chocolate mousse, I excused myself to our room to rest and grieve. Just as I laid down, my daughter Silly called and as soon as we heard each other’s voices, we both started crying. That time processing with her was a gift. We both shared the feelings we were having about being apart, me in Kenya and her home on her birthday. While she was sad, others had entered into the space I left and were blessing her with plans on her special day. Her siblings were stepping in and carrying on the tradition of a family dinner in her honor, and she was a responsible adult who is moving into a new season without my nurturing.

As we hung up, the epiphany jolted through my conscious mind. The demolition I was surrounded by symbolized my former life in Africa. That season is over. I obeyed God and He strengthened me to do things I never thought I could do. Then, He called me out of that life and into a new season. I have a new marriage, a growing and strategic ministry that is bringing beauty from the ashes, and though my relationship with my kids is transitioning from nurturing to friendship, it is good and natural. My romantic remembrances of Africa had been pulling me back to a season that was over like a rubber band at full-stretch. I had been living like an Israelite longing to go back to the hard-living of Egypt instead of embracing the promised land He was providing for me. The truth became clear. I have a new life that I prayed for and love. I don’t have to go back to Africa to be loved by God or to glorify Him. I can walk in obedience to Him in the season I am in now and be at peace. Abiding with Him no matter where I am is what is better.

I had to live in the tension of transition until I was ready to process the end of that season. Having done that, I was ready to go home for the first time in over twelve years. Let the promised land living begin!