The fan whirls silently above, and its manufactured wind mingles with the gentle breeze entering through the window. The air smells moist. Perhaps it will rain tonight. A bead of sweat trickles down past the vibrant, red label on my Coke, and as I watch, I can’t help but smile. A soda is a rare treat, but a Coke is rarer still. My anticipation turns to dinner. There will be meat tonight. I savor the moment, and reflect on my day. The morning was cool, and work was light. Though it did not require exhaustion, the day’s labor was still productive, and a week of effort culminated in a successful build. I sigh, contented, and proclaim “Another day in paradise.”

Sweat burns my eyes, and the putrid, marshy smell of anaerobic decay fills my nose. I wipe at my eye, but only manage to smear mud across my face. Ten feet away, at the bottom of a hole, is mud. However, inside that mud is a wrench that I hope to spot by shoving my head a little bit farther down the narrow pit. This morning the engine that powers the well drilling rig would not run properly. After working with the engine for hours, I was frustrated, and in my frustration, I pulled hard trying to loosen a nut. When the nut came free, the wrench flew from my hand and fell into the hole because of course it did. Now I am covered in warm, stinking mud, and after more hours of work the wrench is still in the hole. I stand up and kick the bucket that I should have used to plug the hole originally. Under my breath, like a curse, I mutter to myself “Another day in paradise.”

This is the mantra I use to stay sane through the ups and downs of everyday life here in Africa. It has earned me some weird looks from the other short term missionaries, and many times I have heard “It’s nice here, but this isn’t paradise.” Maybe this is true. While Burkina Faso has an abundance of sand, it is distinctly lacking in the beaches that typically accompany ideas of paradise. Or perhaps, while there is plenty of godly work to do and His presence can be felt often, there is too much human suffering for this place to be Heaven. Yet, still there is a ring of truth to me when I utter the phrase.

It can seem absurd at times to hope to find an earthly paradise. There is no perfect place just as there are no perfect people or perfect hamburgers. Sometimes things seem close. A place may check many of the boxes on our mental lists of paradise. Beaches? Yep. Just right climate? Yessir. Close to downtown but still private? You bet! However, one will still find something that is not quite right. Maybe the mattress is lumpy, or the neighbors have a gregarious basset hound. No matter what, the closer we get to meeting all the requirements for our personal paradise the more requirements we will invent. Paradise is not possible.

But still I state my mantra with conviction. Obviously I am aware that paradise will probably not include sifting through mud with my hands looking for a wrench to fix a motor that was working yesterday in order to spend the rest of the day standing in the sun pulling on a rope. It is the decision to behave as if life was ideal that matters. After making that decision, I am thankful for my food even if it is the same rice I have been eating all week. I am fulfilled by my work even if I have exhausted myself without making progress. There is no magic formula here. Often at the time, I am very dissatisfied, but what the mantra demands of me, subconsciously, is an answer to the question: knowing what I know now, would I choose a different path if I lived the same moment again? And, every time, when I seriously consider, my answer remains an emphatic negative.

Like I said, there is no magic. If anything, the supernatural aspect is in my sense of purpose in service to God. However, as my missionary mentor keeps telling me, we can live the same way in our home cultures as we do here. It is only easier to be a missionary because you can never forget why you are serving. Your purpose is in your face every day, but a shift of perspective could be all it takes to feel that same purpose at home. We are called to do God’s work no matter where we are, and while it may be less dramatic, there is certainly no lack of human suffering in any world culture. Christ is needed everywhere, and as citizens of God’s Kingdom, we are all missionaries wherever we are. I don’t have all the answers for how to live that out, but these are my meager thoughts on the subject.

It is not where we are that makes a paradise. It is who we are. It is not what we are doing, but why we are doing it. Better is one day in God’s courts than thousands elsewhere. While Heaven is not here yet, the inroads of His Kingdom are everywhere God is. There is a God shaped hole in everyone’s soul, and once we stop trying to fill it with worldly things and start filling it with God, it is possible that another day at the office, or at school, or stuck in traffic will turn into another day in paradise.