As promised, here’s a glimpse into my mind during the past week of post-Race adjustment.
It’s been easier than I ever expected.
But as I told a friend over coffee this week, “The only thing I got used to this year was getting used to things.”
And really, that’s only partly true. I did have one constant through all of the change: the Q. Leaving them at JFK was, unexpectedly, the hardest thing I did all year.
We were welcomed with noise and color and hugs and tears at the arrivals gate. Even though it was almost midnight, over 2 hours later than our scheduled return last Saturday, energy & emotions were high. There were more friends and families than returning Racers in that high, glass-walled hall. I’d barely stepped out from baggage claim when Diana plowed into me.
She met my teams in a confusing whirl of names and hugs, and we slowly gathered away from the crowd. The Q in a huddle around our packs–that was nothing new. Except that Diana was there. Except that we weren’t staying together in any respect. Diana and I had a friend in the city waiting for us, so I felt an urgency to leave. I said a few goodbyes and we hurried out to get a taxi.
I’d barely opened the door of the yellow cab when I saw my whole squad through the glass wall, still bunched around those huge packs. Something caught in my throat. When the driver asked where to go, all that came out was,
“I– ca-ha-han’t le-he-he-heave them!”
I collapsed into heavy sobs that lasted all the way to Brooklyn. The entire plane ride from Poland, I smiled and joked with everyone, wondering “What else can I possibly say to people I’ve spent every moment with for this whole year?”
Suddenly, driving away from them, there was too much to say, too much I hadn’t said.
Diana held my hand with understanding that entire night, through my happy storytelling and sudden bouts of crying. That story is apparently funny to hear now, mostly because it’s just so pathetic. I’m not hiding it: I was a mess.
Sleep was enough to put me back together, and the following days in New York were just fun. We just walked around and ate. We just talked through every bit of life we’d missed.
Tuesday, I came home.
My family was at the airport in full America-balloon-toting cheesiness. I’ve never been happier to see them.
The next night, mom and I were curled up watching “Tangled”. I’d just been telling her about the lantern festival in Thailand that is mimicked in the movie, when lightning flashed and everything went dark.
Seconds later, angry rain hammered down on the roof. I sat up quickly, thinking,
“Did I leave any clothes hanging outside?!”
I laughed immediately, telling mom what had just popped into my mind. She laughed too, unnecessarily reminding me that we have a machine that does that.
My next thought was to check the windows and roof to make sure nothing was leaking. I even got up and walked around the bedrooms, though I didn’t say why. Something somewhere had to be wet–it was raining.
In that moment, I realized how far away I really was from the places I’d lived this year.
In Rwanda, rain like this would have had dark red mud seeping into the living room.
In Cambodia, rats would have sought shelter in the dripping roof.
In Nepal… well, we didn’t really have an “inside” there. We held up tarps against the uncovered windows as rain came in sideways on our bed.
But here in suburban Kansas, we were in a flash flood warning, and
nothing
happened.
I may as well have been watching the storm on TV. It couldn’t touch me.
And that’s pretty much how I feel right now. I may have been a mess in those first few hours on American soil (really, American concrete. It was New York.) but the peace I’ve felt has less to do with the beautiful haven that is my family’s home (or my sister’s new home in Haven, KS) and more to do with the foundational assurance I found in Jesus this year. I really feel like nothing can rock me.
A few of my Racer sisters articulated things really well in their coming-home posts, so I’ll let them wrap up mine. And I’ll tell you more about my parents’ home later.
-Katie
I think the strangest thing for me is how at peace I feel. I know I’m not the same person I was when I left 11 months ago. I expected to have a harder time stepping back into old, familiar places knowing I am so different, but His grace is sufficient for all things and so far transition is going very well. I’d ask for your continued prayers as I know transition and re-entry is a process that will take some time to walk through. -Joni
In all seriousness… I have kind of adopted a lot of “World Race Culture” beliefs and feelings for my own. We are a culture of high honor, high safety, high courage, and high grace. We meet people where they are. We call people into greatness and walk them into freedom. Yes, these are what I sometimes deem as cheeseball phrases, but they have really become my life. – Samantha
