I don’t get cold often here, but when I do and I get goosebumps, it’s like the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, when George Bailey realizes his mouth is bleeding. That little wound is visible proof that he is alive, that everything will be okay. The goosebumps are caused by an ice cube I pulled from someone’s cup, or the first few seconds of a cold shower. Shocking as it is, the cold is a relief from the brutal heat, one of the many reasons I am not comfortable here in El Salvador.
They say there’s a time when World Racers hit a wall. It’s the time when you realize that this mobile, simple, inconvenient lifestyle isn’t just an adventure to try out for a while. It’s your life, and you’re stuck with it, even when you don’t want to be a nomad. And that realization is kind of freaky.
I think I’m starting to bump into that wall. I’ve been on the Race for almost three months now, and the novelty is wearing off more quickly than my clothes are wearing out. There have been many moments lately where I’ve caught myself thinking about how I’d rather be back in America, where everything’s easier.
The excitement I felt about traveling the world gets upstaged by a desire to stay in one familiar place I know and love. Instead of being the hands and feet of Jesus, I’d often much rather cling to the vestiges of my old, comfortable life. Last year I was captivated by REI’s plastic mugs and travel towels. Now, I want to drink coffee from something ceramic and hefty. I don’t want to check my food for ants anymore. I’m tired of palm trees and not knowing Spanish and wondering if what I just ate will make me sick. I’m tired of filtering all my drinking water. I’m tired of living on rice, Gatorade, and Imodium.
I’m tired of my life revolving around the needs of others, as horrid as that sounds. My life has mostly been about me so far. I’ve been in school for most of it, which is supposed to make me smart and successful. But suddenly, my days revolve around filling others’ needs regardless of whether what I’m doing will look good on a resume someday. I have no say about my life: I do what I’m told and I take care of my team and my life is not my own anymore. It says that your life is not your own in the Bible. With the cushion of my American context removed, I’m learning what that means.
Aside from all those shifts, I’m just getting plain old homesick. I miss my people and my school and the trees and Mt. Rainier. When I get home, I think I’ll greet my rabies-free dogs and drink water from the tap without reservation. I’ll throw toilet paper in the toilet, not the trash can (actually, that muscle memory will be hard to reprogram; you should have seen me our first night in Honduras–ask me about it sometime), and I’ll understand what’s said on every TV channel.
Here’s the thing: that attitude doesn’t work here. I’ve been uncomfortable on short mission trips before, but when you’re only gone a week, all you have to do is hang in there. Five more days, you can tell yourself, and I won’t have to deal with this grizzly bear threat, or this tiresome buddy system. But when you’re three months in with eight to go, you can’t just “hang in there.” You have to adapt. I know that this will all become familiar eventually… but right now, when I’m starting to change, it’s hard. We Racers signed ourselves up for an intense year, and it’s okay to feel homesick and disoriented.
All this distress has made me revisit the question, why do we do it? I wondered this last week as I lay in bed feeling sick from who knows what. Why have we given up our stuff and jobs and futures and comfort and independence for eleven months?
I need a really good reason. It can’t be for the adventure. It can’t be for the children. It can’t be for the community. It can’t even be to make the world a better place. All those things are noble but none of them are enough for me to keep wanting this adventure. The only thing that would make me choose a life like this is the desire to know God. There’s nothing else worth giving up my life for.
Hebrews 12:1-2 has haunted me since the Race started. It says,
…Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.
At El Tunco the waves are pretty big, and there’s a nasty undertow. Sometimes I try to walk in a straight line down the beach: I look at my feet and go, hoping to put one in front of the other. But the water pushes and pulls so much, and rocks and sand tumble over my feet and the current keeps changing, and it makes me dizzy and when I look up I see how much my path’s twisted. I can’t walk in a straight line if I’m looking down. But if I look ahead and pick a landmark and start walking toward that, I don’t even have to think about walking straight. I can still feel the water tugging in every direction, but as long as I have my eyes on that single point, I know I’ll end up where I’m aiming.
So that’s what I’m trying to do on the Race. I’m trying not to fix my eyes on how homesick I am or how much I miss people. I’m not fixing my eyes on doing important work or taking care of children or getting along with everyone or impressing the people back home. I’m fixing my eyes on Jesus himself, because he’s the one who put me here and I’m here, there, and everywhere to know him more. Jesus said, “Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).
So there’s my landmark to walk towards. I’ll look to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of my faith, first. Only through that will we be able to really love kids, and live in peace with my team, be content in every situation, and take this homesickness in stride.
