Before I even start this blog I want to say that I LOVE being home. I love being back with family and friends. I love how quickly people have welcomed me back with open arms and loved me. I love how people have loved me even when I've become spacey because I'm too overwhelmed by too many conversations in English or gone on some mini rant about the American Dream. So let's keep that in mind as you read the rest of this blog because this has been incredibly difficult to write. It's so much easier to be honest about my thoughts and feelings when I'm on the race thousands of miles away from those I love. But I want to keep living in honesty land so here we go:
I finally had my first crying in an unfortunate place and inopportune time. It wasn't Walmart, it had nothing to do with an overabundance of food or clothes. It didn't even have to do with not "feeling" God like I did on the race (all of which I was prepared to deal with!). Nope it had to do with words. Which is funny since if I had to pick the top 2 lessons God taught me on the race, the second would be how I was using my words for harm and not love and that I needed to change that stat. (in case you're wondering the first would be the power of knowing intimacy/worth; lucky for you a blog is coming soon about that!).
So let me set the scene: I fly home, I spend a week with family and friends trying to get caught up on everything I missed in a year in just a few hours time with each person (impossible? yes.) Then I head to camp; one of my favorite places in all the world (and now that I've traveled the world that sentence holds a lot more meaning!) to work as a Christian Ed. Director. And I have been PUMPED for this! I knew reentry was going to be tough so this was going to be the perfect transition for me. I am living in community (but I have my own room), I am still doing ministry (but it's ministry I've chosen and love) and I can test out living race culture on people who love and accept me (without having to do nightly feedback).
From start to today my reentry should have been smooth and somewhat easy. I mean I planned it all out. I was prepared for anything.
So why did I find myself feeling like I was drowning, so overwhelmed while talking to a friend at breakfast that I just started crying. Unable to stop, unable to talk, unable to do anything but cry as the waitress awkwardly tried to clean up everything around us to give me space even though she clearly was on a time crunch to finish.
I wiped my tears as quickly as possible and left with my head down, embarrassed to have cried in the dining hall–I mean I have this lovely room all to myself, it would have been so much more convenient to cry there! But I just couldn't take it any more. It being hurtful words and gossip. I realized that since getting home I had been on word overload and a lot of those words did not involve calling up or loving others. The words were used to judge and tear others down. I even found myself joining in. All that work God had done over the 11 months and I could feel it slowly slipping away. And I hated it. I hated not knowing what to say or do. I hated every time I joined it. I was disgusted with myself. And finally I just couldn't take it any more and cried out all my frustration and disappointment.
That was a week ago. I don't have a solution. I haven't cried again. But I also haven't felt the weight lifted from my shoulders and gut. I have a bad feeling that I would cry if there came a day where I no longer felt that weight. The day where I just accept that gossip and harmful words are part of life. I pray that day never happens.
