RAW

Raw veggies. Raw meat. Raw sewage. Raw footage. Raw feelings. Life and death—Raw. 

Land owned by the church in a raw state.....

As I encounter life here, there is a constant comparison to life in my home culture. The word that comes to mind is raw. Life here is in its natural state, not purified or polished or finished. It is susceptible, chafed, irritated. The realities are unbridled, without refinement. Everywhere I turn I encounter someone or a system that is lacking in experience in parallel comparison to that someone or system in my home country. 

The juxtaposition is that while raw food and raw wood can bring life and countless possibilities, the raw reality here brings fatigue and finds my heart raw—unprepared. 

Raw sewage backed up in a friend's garage

It doesn’t matter how many times a day the floor is swept, there is always sand or dirt to agitate the bottoms of my feet. I may find window frames and doors rough to my touch, and hazardous to my clothes. The feeling of a rug brings sensory relief. Water washing over my hands, or body is a refreshing experience every-single-time as the dirt and grime from the day is washed away. 

My ears are awakened as early morning brings the start of the birds’ happy and vigorous chirping sounds. Then the sounds of pounding, scraping and talking fill the day as buildings all around are rising. There is the moment the neighbor puts up loud speakers on his roof to be sure everyone hears his Quaranic recitation and prayers. The sound is so loud we can hardly have conversation in the house. A walk to the beach brings the roar of the waves as we play in the sand and water, reminding me how far I am from home, how small I am on this planet, and how fragile safety really is. 

Oh how the nose revolts at raw sewage; raw, rotting, dead animal; raw blood from the butcher shop; garbage and exhaust! Then there is the yummy smells of yassa, maafe, or cheb as women throughout the neighborhood cook lunch. The most invigorating sensation for the nose is when we walk to the Monument or the light house and can breath in fresh sea air, tinged with the oder of earth and grass. Oh how my lungs open up for this fresh, clean air.

LaRae enjoying raw nature in Dakar

All of these sensory experiences bring rounds of emotions and thoughts, leaving my heart feeling jumbled. There are times my heart is filled with the exhilaration that comes from living life in another country—so many aspects of life and culture to explore. Just as there is a crest of contentment living in another country, there is also an equally deep trough of homesickness. The longing for the smell of cut grass, for the sites of fall colors, for the ease of shopping, for the family visits, for experiencing everything in my own language, and for the convenience.

Sometimes the waves of experiences seem too much. Yet, for every decent, there is reason to rise. The reminder that we are here for a bigger reason than ourselves gives purpose. The reminder that God provides strength, He gives a better perspective. When I find myself revolting at the sights or smells, when I find myself wanting to go home, when I find myself tired, another thought enters my head. “It was this and worse for Jesus who left HEAVEN to come to this trash hole, spent 33 years, was betrayed by those who claimed to follow God and died a shameful death. Yet he didn’t complain. My life is so much better in many ways than His was, I have no room to complain.” My prayer becomes, “God, may my heart be ever raw for You, ready to let you bring me to life and work Your possibilities through me.” 

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Isaac Watts

~~LaRae