It’s been a while since I’ve written, a while since I’ve known how to write. Words have a way of cementing moments, giving permanence to a memory. You’d think of all years to create permanence in my memories it’d be this one right? Well, to acknowledge the need to remember is to acknowledge how quickly time is slipping through my fingers. Trying to hold onto each moment on the race feels like trying to catch an entire waterfall in my hands. I’m cupping my palms and its just flowing straight through my fingers with enough force that it eventually just takes me away with the rushing water too. I’m treading water half a mile down the stream from the waterfall, still in denial about how swift the current of time is. How do I even give words to the moments that I’m living?
How do I explain the panic that consumed my chest when I was woken up at 5:30 am by our entire house swaying in Nepal? A 5.4 magnitude earthquake shook Everest on November 27, 2016. Over 200km away, our little purple house in Kathmandu shook right along side the grandest mountain on the planet. My heart broke when I saw the fear in the eyes of our Nepali families, the first earthquake since the one that changed everything a year before.
How do I choose words that do justice to the visions the Lord gave me as I tried to fall back asleep after the earthquake that morning? He filled my heart with righteous anger for all the idols and temples that are in abundance in Nepal. I saw the mountains shake and the earthquake with the Lord’s jealousy for us. I saw temples become mounds of ruble. I saw statues split in half. I saw the ground on which I stand FIRM, not a hair was touched on those who cling to the rock of the Lord.
How do I explain standing in front of a house church, with strangers that had become family, tears streaming down my face, hands shaking, thanking them for teaching me so much about living by the presence of the Holy Spirit? I had a lump in my throat the days leading up to church in anticipation for those goodbyes, and even now sitting in a coffee shop in Vietnam my eyes are filling thinking of that moment.
How can I even begin to do justice to the way I feel here in Vietnam? Stepping of the plane, soaking in the sweet 80-degree sunshine, looking up at palm trees, and trudging through a tangible wall of humidity? Florida, is that you? My heart actual skipped a beat, did I miss something, am I home?
What about that day in Saigon when the Lord whispered to me two words, “water” and “tattoo”? So I went down to the park and met three incredible Vietnamese girls siting by the water, we talked for two hours, and they asked about the tattoo on my wrist. I got to tell them all about redemption! We laughed and shared a snack on a park bench together.
The way I felt standing in front of a room filled with twenty somethings, putting on essentially a YoungLife club here in Vietnam, how do I explain the light bulb that went off in my soul that day? The moment that I realized THIS is what I love. That if I could make people laugh with silly games and break down their walls, if I could build relationships and talk about life in a way that brings them to the foot of the cross, if I could do exactly this for the Kingdom, for the rest of my life, I would be so happy.
How do I describe the tug of war in my heart everyday I spend here in Vietnam? On one hand it is the greatest gift to be in a country that is abounding with twinkly lights and Christmas trees this season, to have wifi and connection to home, to have western amenities, shops, showers, and beds, but on the other hand these same things are making my heart ache for home fiercely. Just being in a climate so similar to Florida in it of itself makes me feel close to home but in Da Nang it’s highly westernized and it makes home feel tangible, when in reality (according to google) I’m 9,196 miles from home. Home cannot feel tangible to me right now. It makes me think I can just pop home for Christmas, give everyone a hug and a kiss and be on my way again.
How can words compare to the way I feel when I walk into my coffee shop and the sweet girls I’ve become friends with here squeal with excitement? They have a thirst for knowledge that is inspiring and they constantly ask for help with their English. It is the most beautiful gateway to a relationship for the Kingdom.
How do I explain the excitement and the sinking in my chest when I realize my heart is already scattered across this globe, that home is no longer a place I can truly return to, and that I still have eight more months for this to become even more true? When I do come home I know it will never really be the same, because I wont be the same, because not all of me will come home. How beautiful and how daunting?
I don’t know what to say when people ask me questions about the race. I don’t know what to say when people ask what I’m doing after this. I don’t know how to articulate the daily highs and lows of a life of ministry, or how to explain how crazy I feel sometimes for having emotions that are constantly all over the place.
All I have are moments. Moments that are making me right now, moments that wreck me and moments that fill me. And the time between the two are filled with other moments, smaller moments, moments of reflection and processing. Getting lost in the moment is a beautiful thing, until you look up and realize you’re treading water half a mile down the stream from the waterfall, and you don’t want it to be half way through month three, and you don’t want to say goodbye again.
