On a Rooftop Down in Senegal

Four months ago, as I was preparing to come back to the U.S. after four months abroad, my friends warned me. They said that, months later, I would still ache for this now not-so-foreign country with every fiber of my being. Little things would take me back, and the longing would be unbearable. I didn’t believe them. I’m one of those people for whom the phrase “home is where your toothbrush is” has always been true. When I am here, I am here, when I am there, I am there. I love being in the present, and have never been homesick. So it’s killing me to admit that I miss Senegal so badly right now. Today, it was Kari Jobe’s “Savior’s Here”. I used to stand up on the roof of my school (The Baobab Center), and sing that over the nation that welcomed me so well, the nation that is home to some of the most unreached peoples in the world. That rooftop was one of the most nurturing places of my whole trip. I can close my eyes and see it all perfectly; I can feel the breeze rustling my hair into unruly tangles. I can see the hundreds of men bowed down in the streets on a Friday afternoon to pray, and I can hear the mosque’s call to prayer.

This is still one of my top five favorite pictures from Senegal. I think this is its third appearance on this blog. Sorry, I'm a girl obsessed. 

I like this one because you can see the people milling around, and the sun is bright and the sky is very blue. That's pretty much how it goes there. 

That tall fixture in the center is part of the mosque; it's the minorette from which the call to pray is given, five times each day. 

I remember my worship and Bible study times on that rooftop as if they had been written into my very soul. One day, I was reading about how the blind would one day see (Isaiah 29:18, Isaiah 35:5, Matthew 11:8). I started thinking about how amazing God was, that Jesus could and would save people who wouldn’t have a chance without Him. I was in awe of how someone who had never heard of Christ, who should never be saved, would be rescued by Him. Someone who didn’t have a chance would be gifted with eternal life. And then I realized that living in a majority Christian country doesn’t make my odds any better. I didn’t have a chance. I wasn’t open to Christ. I shouldn’t be saved. God is bigger than any factors that might prevent others from hearing the Gospel, and will save whom He wills despite our stone cold hearts. It is only the Holy Spirit that can make a dead heart come alive. This line of thinking helped me bring missions into the deepest part of my heart. It’s one thing when it’s “us” and “them”. But it’s another when you come to know that it’s all “we”. We are human; we suffer from sin. The thing that makes me different from the Senegalese Muslim is not where we were born, but Jesus, only Jesus. In the song I mentioned earlier, Kari Jobe sings, “You opened the blind eyes… you opened my blind eyes”. It’s my favorite part of the song, and one of the reasons I miss Senegal so badly whenever I hear it. It reminds me that all that I have is because of the grace of God alone, and that He who opened my hearts, is able to open the hearts of the Senegalese who have become such a grand part of my life.

Have a listen, if you'd like.