The morning started out with a cup of coffee and my bible. I was so excited, the tiny main room was empty and finding time for Jesus has felt so difficult this month. But I got up early and I had all morning. Gleefully, I sipped my coffee and opened my Bible and—
Michaela hurried through the room, going to get something from outside. On her way past she told me I need to wake everybody up and summarized the strongly worded text message from our host we just received boiling down to the fact that we were currently late for ministry. Miscommunications are really fun, aren’t they?
Coffee, bolted down throat. Bible, thrown on bed without a single word read. Teammates, more or less dragged out of their beds as I tried to explain what was going on while pulling on a second pair of socks to brave the cold early morning.
Bedheadded and bleary, we sloshed our way across the sand of the campground to go meet our host. I tried to count thankfuls on the walk, like the way the light filtered down through the pine trees, or in the fact that I would be eating a meal soon, but all attempts fells flat in the face of annoyance—annoyance at the early morning wake up, at our team leaders for not communicating properly, annoyance at my lack of a quiet time.
I’ve began noticing something this month that came to a head on this day. Being back in the Western World of Europe and being surrounded by all American hosts and staff has made me selfish. I can call it annoyance or frustration or whatever, but they all boil down to my wants being trumped by the wants and requests of others. And after journaling and checking my heart, it’s because I’m back inside a Western mindset and an American bubble; this month I lack nothing and I even am blessed in excess by out hosts beyond what I’ve experienced in months.
So here it is; without physical lack or daily physical struggle, I’m struggling. Despite what it looks like on Instagram or whatever blogs I’ve been trying to write, I’m flat out struggling.
I’m struggling to remember all the things I’ve learned that last seven months and make them sustainable within a Western life. I’m struggling to wholly be me again. I’m struggling to write. I’m struggling to keep my head and heart planted where my feet are and live presently in each moment.
I’ve left my heart in seven places so far and friends, the goodbyes aren’t getting any easier. Saying goodbye to Malawi is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do in my life. And to be thrown from a calm Jesus led life of community, service, and never checking the clock into a regimented 9-5 ministry day where we don’t really talk to people but just work, work, work hurts me. This transition back to the West hurts.
This isn’t to say I’m done here or done with the Race—far from it. Rather, this is a test, a slight dipping of my toes into the waters to which I will be returning at the end of August. So I know that while things kind of hurt now, that it will be an adjustment period of learning how to connect to the heart of God within a Western frame.
Honestly, I’m kind of happy for the pain because it pushes me toward greatness and is preparing me for what life will be like in America.
And while I’m holding on to that perspective, right now I’ve been throwing up all day (this seems to happen far too often on the Race), it’s freezing cold, my wifi won’t work well enough to call my parents, and I can’t stop crying because I flat out don’t feel like myself.
But that night we were all sitting around trying to keep warm and Abby starts playing dance music on her phone. And it’s just her, jumping around, eyes closed, a smile on her face. She stretches a hand out for Ashlyn and they both come for me.
I felt annoyed, I felt tired, and dancing was the last thing I wanted to do. But I danced, and soon nearly all fourteen of us—my team and our partner team this month, Agape— were in the tiny room jumping around and laughing hysterically.
I looked at Rashidat with her pearly white grin wide, and Walker trying to learn how to roll his hips from Abby, and Josh playing DJ, and Bliz singing all the wrong words to the song, and my annoyance got swept away for deep love for this team, these people.
I’m struggling, sure, but I’m not struggling alone. Never, ever, ever, alone.
The dance party reminded me of what I’ve found these months—community, love, and freedom. How dare I let my physical location and the daily schedule around me rob me of what God has been carefully cultivating in my life.
So for now, I will struggle, I will dance, I will cry, and gosh, I’m going to try my hardest to write. This journey wouldn’t be possible without all of your reading and cheering me on from home, so won’t you join me in prayer that this whatever can be struggled through?
