I woke from a dream last week with a wet pillow and slow tears streaming down my face. I had dreamt I was back home in America. And it wasn't a happy dream.
(A few of my besties the night I left for the Race)
The dream shook me up for the rest of the day. In the dream, I had come home and was hanging out with a group of my friends at one of their houses. They were all having a blast, but I didn’t fit anymore. Things were different. I felt different. So I found a room furthest from everyone and began to cry .
For months I have wondered what it would be like to come home. But it has finally struck me.What if I am home now? Was home in the Phillipines? Or in Kenya? I am fearful of coming back to America because I have hyped it up so much. Worries are creeping in now like what if it isn’t how I really pictured it. After the heart surgery God has done on me this year, will I feel different about things. Will I see things differently?
(LAX airport. About to leave America and fly to the Phillipines)
These past nine months I have been preparing myself for culture shock when I arrived home in America. I wasn’t expecting it last month. Arriving in Europe has already started it. Just a few weeks ago I constantly sweated while sleeping on top a truck stop with no fans, and no air. I showered with a bucket of cold water and ate white rice and noodles every day. Arriving in Europe felt like home. There was no litter, no smelly pollution. People gave me space, and drove on the right side of the road. Around every corner and bend is a store or mart. There are malls within bussing distance, salons and movie theaters. We’ve been eating amazing food here. Soups, buttered bread, deserts and pasta. I laughed to myself crawling into my bed the first night in Romania. It was the softest thing I have felt the whole race . I pulled up the baby blue down comforter and sunk into the cozy warmth of the bed. It was actually cool enough to snuggle with a blanket. It was almost unfathomable after our month in India. I woke up the next morning to the smell of freshly mowed grass and had cereal for breakfast. The weather was like a warm summer day. There were puppies to play with, lush grass to walk barefoot in , and a play ground and trampoline for when we felt like being kids again.
The reality of America is sinking in. This month my plane will be landing on the runway. I will see my friends, eat all the foods I missed, and sleep in my own bed. But it’s becoming bittersweet. This season of my life is ending. My home in America will not resemble what I have seen this year. The people I have spent more time with then almost any friend back home will be physically gone from my daily life. Its hitting me what I’m about to experience. That culture shock. The re-entry process has finally begun.
(Somewhere in the world.)
In almost every country people speak of America as if it were heaven. All around the world America has been placed on a pedestal. Last week in church I began to dwell on it. Truly, am I blessed for being born and living life in America, or am I cursed. Because now I know how good I have it compared to others. I know that it’s much easier for me to live my life, than anywhere else in the world. What if God had placed me in a mud African hut for life. Would I be more thankful, not knowing really how much more I could have. Would I have more joy, be more content? What if I had been born in India, as a woman. What if I had been born and orphaned in the Phillipines. Would I have been better off there? I realize that living in America is a dream for many. They think we have it all, they think we are rich, and have easy lives where nothing bad happens. When kids see our white skin they use the only English they know to ask us for money. Somewhere they have figured out that Americans have it. They have lots. Teenagers everywhere tell us their dream is to come to America.
(Leaving the country with my empty passport)
I have discovered that we Americans idolize comfort. We’re not ready to give it all up for Christ. If we were there would be more of us giving and serving, even at home. Becky our Romanian contact just had a flea market last month and raised over four thousand dollars the first day. A few days after the sale we asked her how much she had made and she shared that it was already gone. She had given most of it away. I was blown away. What if we truly lived with the mentality that what we have isn’t really ours, it’s a blessing from God. And what if we gave it away so that other people could experience that. I think it would change our community, it would change lives.
I’ve realized that I’m jumping around a lot, but its just a peek into my mind. As America, and what I call home is coming into view my mind is fluttering around a lot of subjects. Its asking a lot of questions. And I wanted to ask you the same questions out loud. I dont really know how I feel about this whole re-entry thing.
(Helping with a feeding my first day in the Philippines)
