It’s so funny how if a place stays exactly the same, it just serves to highlight how much you have changed. That’s what Babogaya does for us.
Picture our family, fresh from suburban America and only three weeks into life in Ethiopia—hopeful, wide-eyed, and already jolted by the quirks of Addis (hang-drying laundry, why!).
We were told Babogaya was the place to visit for respite; our organization has a retreat center there. Only one month in, we decided getting out of the city to see our future family-trip spot sounded so nice.
It was beautiful: the lake, the green . . . and yet . . . I was underwhelmed. It was a dark lake, a playground, and a paddle board and that’s it. The playground legit seemed like the thrill was seeing if you wouldn’t get injured. I quietly reminded myself that we had our tetanus shots. The water was one-hundred steep stairs from our cabin, and the lake itself was massive and deep with no wading area—a nightmare for a mom to toddler kids. Final straw: outdoor bathrooms. I was like, um, this is not a respite—this is just glorified camping!! The Enneagram 7 in me fumed at the idea of not having the most fun possible at weekend getaways.
OK, now, fast forward two-and-a-half years to this family. This family can’t get to Babogaya enough. Even during the rainy season, it’s a non-negotiable.
Why, what’s changed? The kids are a bit older, but we actually have even more babies, not fewer (twins, still shocked). I want to give us credit for being grittier, but we are still very much the least-rugged expats in the country. Maybe we have adopted a more vintage parenting that involves more dirt, more sky, and more scrapes.
So we’ve gained some grit, and definitely flexibility, but I think mostly, we’ve learned a secret from living here in Ethiopia: fun doesn’t always come from being entertained. At least, not in the way that you get to be when you step foot in a water park, movie theater, or library story time. Because there, the entertainment is provided for you. But here, without anything close to that in Addis, we instead have learned a different form of play: the art of delighting.
Delight is found when you realize the swing at the creaky playground actually soars into the trees, noticing which trees are waiting to be climbed, and bracing yourself for the icy shock of a first plunge into dark waters and doing it anyway. It’s stepping outside after bedtime to watch the stars. It’s paddleboarding until your arms are jelly and your heart is full.
Delight asks more of you. It’s not provided; it’s cultivated. It’s quieter and slower, but it’s also richer.
Instead of being entertained, we have grown simple pleasures into big memories—and then nested in that.
What once felt like “not enough” has become the backdrop to some of our best memories. Not entertaining, maybe. But truly, deeply delightful.
And sitting by the water, I think, isn’t that just like God? He’s not in the distraction, the consuming, or the flashy, but in the wonder, the “be still and know.” The delight.
All of that, and this family knows to bring our own coffee maker now: game changing.
Where in your life do you need to cultivate delight? What spaces do you make for yourself to do this, in life and with the Lord?
