i want you to meet my people.

so i've done what all the cool kids these days are doing, and started a hash tag on instagram.  yes and (so far) i have it all to myself and i would like to keep it that way because i'm obsessive, or possessive.  something like that…
i want you to know the people that i live life alongside.
the ones i go to church with, eat with, talk with, learn with.
the ones i sit squished next to on bumpy village roads with + crack peanut shells with until our fingers are (possibly) permanently turned red with.
the ones that He has put in my life for reasons that i so clearly see, and the ones that i'm still trying to figure out why.

so world, i give you #peopleofburkina.

at the times i need it most, the words come tumbling from my lips.  the words tucked in my hearts from sunday school days & seventh grade bible challenges, the truths that i know to be true, but lose in the chaos of life.

the thoughts of the unknown, overwhelm.  the homelessness, the isolation, the loss, all are painful.  the death, the poverty, the spiritual disparity around me, constantly wrench on my bleeding heart. 

 and in the moment, ant hills become mountains and the streams, roaring oceans.

how is it that i can lose my focus, lose my grasp on all that is joy, peace, grace and faith?  all that i am given so freely, why don't i reach out to scoop from the overflowing stores? 

and when those words of truth are spoken, spilled on the front porch like a tipped glass, it all floods in.  those sweet words spoken by the One who loves so much, flood over me, forcing me on my knees like a wave, knocking me off my feet.  the words that have passed my lips so many times, are coming back in tidal waves of grace, bathing my aching heart in truth.

showing my eyes to look up and grasp the hand that is so lovingly stretched out, offering grace and forgiveness with the promise of a new day with fresh mercies.

the sun is hot on my face as i walk out our gate and the little one's cries of, "tubabu musso" meet + fill my ears.  everyone is still in their blue checkered school clothes, clutching some kind of food that they snatched to eat before dinner, just like every other kid when they get home from school.  some proudly show me their guava while showing off their new french words.

a little one comes shooting out the courtyard to my right, sporting only his little, black shorts and makes a beeline for me, grabbing my big, light hand in his small, dark one as soon as he reached me.

"you going to see your mom?" our neighbor asks
i agree in the affirmative, and lift the camera on my shoulder out of reach from little hands.  "photo taa, tubabu musso, photo ta" : take our picture, take our picture.

i skirt the lake of mud and trash in the middle of the road that is quickly eating up the small pathway around it.  and i hear confirmation that mom is there even before i see her.