How it messed me up...

While I was in Africa everything was fine. We did our work, we had fun at the markets, we got to spend time with the happy kids at El Shaddai, and we were even treated to a performance at the end of the week. Everything was happy and fun. The happiness where we were at surprised me. The people we met were just happy to be alive.

I got home and the realization of what life is really like in Africa hit me. HARD.

And I started feeling guilty. Not that I had everything and they had nothing -- it was that I had everything and am doing nothing with it. How in the world was I complaining about doing the dishes with the old food on them when there are people that have no food? How did I ever complain about keeping the house clean when there are people who live in mud huts?

And then I felt useless. I felt like I was needed there and they were so happy that I came -- just me showing up made their week.

And now I was home and my job was to wash clothes (again...not complaining about that), and making sure the bills are paid (at least we have enough money to pay the bills -- and we have electricity). I was happy and more grateful for these things than I ever had been, but still I felt useless. I would ask myself -- what can I do today that would impact someone else's life? There isn't a whole lot around here that you can do everyday to impact someone else's life. And I'm not talking about smiling at someone in the grocery store.

And then I felt angry. I wanted to change everything and no one was on board with me.

I wanted to lose weight and get healthy -- how could I be fat and over eat when someone (a whole continent pretty much) is rummaging through the trash to find their food for the day.

I was mad at myself for getting us into so much debt for stupid things, when I could've spent that money on a child that really needed it.

I had no sympathy for anyone here anymore. I was watching Dateline and they were following a boy in a home for troubled children -- he was there because he was having issues from being hit as a child. I felt no sympathy. I just kept thinking -- you weren't raped by anyone who could get their hands on you. You don't have a disease that will kill you and half your family. You have a home and a bed to sleep in. So what's your problem? Get over it and get on with your life.

I'm still feeling all of these things. I'm just getting to the point where I'm trying to turn it into something productive.