community

Late afternoon is my favourite time of day here. The world opens up when the heat from the day starts to dissipate. Tonight I packed my dinner and headed outside to eat on the dock. I sat there, my feet hanging off the end, idly watching a crane unload a container ship across the harbour. A slight movement at the top of its mast caught my eye, and I saw the red, white and blue of the flag flying there. For possibly the first time in my life, I felt the needle of homesickness (not so much sharp as it was a dull ache, low in my throat).

There is no America here on the Africa Mercy. There is no Canada and no Germany and no Nigeria. We are an amalgam of humanity wrenched from homes and families around the world by God's unnerving call. We must find a way to live and work together in the face of thirty cultures and almost as many languages. We misunderstand each other on a daily basis, and the real work has yet to begin. Gulfs to span as wide as the ocean in front of me.

When I looked back at the flag, I realized that there was only one star against the blue. Liberia, not America. My old home and this new one, blurred together by sudden tears.


So I did what any self-respecting ex-pat would have done. I finished watching the sunset and then went for a run. My sister would be proud.