I’m back.
I thought coming home would be different, like a relief or a rest. It hasn’t been. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy to be home. I get to be with the people I missed and flush my toilet paper instead of depositing it in a trash can. But this month is much more like yet another month of adjusting, figuring out the new rhythm, finding out what my life looks like now that I’m home after being away for so long.
I’m sitting on a fluffy sofa right now with an overfed dog at my side. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner and a lamp by the phone. There’s a TV with cable in English. A dining room is around the corner, and wonder of wonders! carpet in the bedrooms in place of my accustomed concrete. This used to be my comfort zone, my sanctuary, where I felt safe. It’s not anymore. I just want to go outside, pitch up my tent, and huddle in the rain. I don’t know how to deal with this world. I have to fight every day to get up, to accept this new American dream, to go out into the world and face the echoes of my old self that mock me behind every corner. The old fears, the old doubts and insecurities — they want to take me over again. I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. I had very little idea before the race and now that I’m home the same problem has come back to me.
I don’t want this performance-driven life.
We are so much more than what we can do. We cannot change how much we are valued, no matter how much we feel otherwise. I feel so small, insignificant, and unqualified in this big huge world. So here’s what I’m going to do: I’m not going to let the expectations of culture dictate who I should be or how I should act. I just want to chase after Him, drown in Him until every wound that I’m feeling only leaks out Him. The world doesn’t need more people to fit a mold and be “normal”, and the more I try to do so, the more resistance I will feel. The world needs people who will thrive, who will do what makes them come alive, who will dance like nobody’s watching and who will never stop relentlessly seeking Him.
I don’t have a comfort zone anymore. I have a comfort Person. I feel weak and shriveled, but He is strong. And though it may seem like madness to anyone who sees, I’m going to do what makes me come alive, through Him who makes me come alive. I didn’t ask for it to be easy, but I wanted to be able to handle life. Well, I can’t, but He can. So this weary dream-chaser, full of scars, is off to chase something else, and to have the courage to be herself even when it seems crazy or doesn’t make sense. I’m going to be brave enough not to pretend that I have it all together.
Pray for me. I have no idea what I’m doing.
