As I sat and stared out of the airport window, I recall trying to convince myself that the queasy feeling in my stomach was typical. I remember wishing it would have sunken in more by that point, but it hadn’t. Not even in the slightest. Rather, I was stuck in a place in the middle- a place where emotions are hard to come by; hard to determine. A place where I felt numb. A place where although I was thrilled to spend the next year of my life pursuing and sharing God’s love across three different continents, I was fearful that I was just running away from the reality I was leaving behind. I was yearning for this new part to be a collision with the life I was leaving behind rather than a vacation from it. For it to feel like a place that was fully surrounded by God’s presence. But I didn’t. I just felt like a phony.
I think it was the smell, the heat, and the overabundance of flies that greeted my face the first morning when it initially began to sink in. The 28-hour bus ride to Albania that stretched through Turkey, Greece, and Macedonia should have been somewhat of an acquaintance, but it was definitely the consuming smell of the adjacent pig pen.
Albania: mountains, farm animals, flies, and hay stacks. It is beautiful. And hot. And composed of the most beautiful human beings I have ever encountered. This month our whole squad is together working at a children’s summer camp. Which is a blessing and has my name all over it. Not only are we are provided beds, showers, drinking water, and even toilet paper; but our days are to be spent playing soccer, in jump castles, and in the pool with kids all day long. And there is pizza. It is wonderful.
Despite my excitement and thankfulness for this month, three days of traveling through four countries—all of which make unquestionably the “have been to list” due to me marking my territory in each–and almost a week of ministry later, the impassive airport feeling has yet to cease. However, although still existent, it is beginning to fade. I have yet to comprehend that I will be gone for an entire year but I can feel my heart progressively opening up more. The many perfect nights of sitting and sharing my life with my squadmates whom I admire and who love in a way I desire to–nights including boys jumping out of windows, castle cookie birthday cake parties, and sleeping under the stars, sometimes even in the same hammock…, all of which have consisted of nutella in some way or another–have advanced the adjustment process. My hesitance to be vulnerable, my feeling of incompetence, and my doubt of being able to survive 11 months has already began to transform into confidence and ambition. And while I miss everyone from home an immense amount; while I wonder how much my nephews have already grown and how many Thor Four group texts messages are consuming my phone; and while my legs are literally covered in mosquito bites and my diet has consisted of mainly tomatoes and cucumbers; the winks, smiles, kisses on the cheek, and secret handshakes have made any struggle thus far worthwhile.
So although my heart is still in a place of transition, it is beginning to open up and trust more completely. It is being filled with more and more excitement of what is to come. Of where my squadmates and I will end up after these 11 months. Of how much we grow after this adventure we have begun to embark on. The adventure that has already began to change our lives forever.
