Where is my "Africa"?

This past Wed. Marshall and I packed up the kids and drove up to Asheville to attend one of my best friend's "commissioning" service. She and her husband are going on the mission field under the Southern Baptist convention, so their commissioning took place at a humongo church. As we walked into the service, I had some mixed emotions. I mostly felt familiarity because I grew up going to these--usually dreading them because I didn't like to stand out, I was then treated differently once everyone knew I was a missionary kid. (Besides the fact that my parents sometimes made us wear terrible "angel" dresses, as we called them. They were like big mu-mus made out of African cloth and then sometimes we had to sing African songs,in front of the church--talk about a popularity-killer).
As the service went on, all 48 missionaries had a chance to share where they had started on this journey and where they were being sent. As they shared, interspersed with lines from a worship song, my heart started to come alive again. I started to feel things that I had forgotten, love for other cultures, the people of the world that are so interesting and important. My heart started to break again for the oppressed, the poor in devastating situations who don't know Christ. As my heart softened, I began to remember some of my experiences in Africa. I knew some about what these missionaries were about to face because I've experienced a different culture. I've seen extreme poverty, grew up seeing it as the norm. We were rich when we lived in Africa. And then we came to the U.S.
Although we are still rich, I don't always see it like that any more. The longer I've lived in America, the more desensitized I've become to materialism. I used to not care what was in my wardrobe, what kind of car or job I had, I was content to have little. The longer I'm here, I care too much. I find myself coveting lots of different things, thinking, "if only I had 'this' or 'that' I would be content." Sometimes I get "this" or "that" and then I'm still waiting to feel the contentment. Even worse, I start to feel like I deserve those things! Living in the inner city has helped me keep a lot of this in perspective, as we see poverty on a daily basis. But even then, I can drive across town to pick up my kids from preschool (the comfortable side of town) or go clean the million dollar palace and my struggle starts all over again.
I was thinking about this during the missions conference as the speaker was talking about giving ourselves as a living sacrifice (which he equated to a broken heart before God). He talked about when we offer that up, God is able to open our hearts to caring for the lost of the world and once He does that, there will be an inexplicable joy in our hearts. As I soaked it all in, the familiar surroundings (a missions service), the talk and the fact that I was in the presence of missionaries, my heart felt warm, comfortable, alive.
So...what do I mean by "Where is my 'Africa'?" Where is the part of me that I shutdown so many times because it doesn't fit in this culture of consumerism, it's unpopular, it's forgotten. It involves needs instead of wants. It's not a slave to the clock or money. It's taking the time to enjoy others and family. It's living simply, being blessed by all that we receive. It's giving generously to those in need. It's living, ready for the opportunity to care for others. That is the gift that Africa gave to me. This is the part of me that I want to continue to come alive and remember. I want my "Africa" to become home again!