Please be careful with us, when we come home. To you, we’re probably just a bunch of 20 somethings who were a little lost. Maybe you even think we’ve been running around wide-eyed victims of wanderlust, and coming home means we walk back into reality or something like that. I hope you don’t think that, because I have seen more reality in the past year, than I ever did back home. Please don’t call this a trip, unless you are talking about an exhilarating out of body experience, because it was. I saw glimpses of heaven here. Please remember that this was life for us. You might say we were having a quarter life crisis and we just all needed somewhere to go…so we did, and as Hillsong said it, we were taken deeper than our feet could ever wander. And I pray that returning home doesn’t mean we emerge from that—but that we submerge farther into it.
I’m sorry that I won’t be able to answer all the questions that you have, and that I might be more pensive for a while and less attentive. But it’s only because Papa has given me a lot to chew on. Who I am, the world, the love, the pain, the mess—all of it. I also might need to apologize for daydreaming about the adventures that I had. If you feel the need to ask about what’s next—your guess is about as good as mine would be. All I can say is that it won’t be the next thing, it will be the new thing. I am still Kathleen Cleary Forrest. I still laugh at my own jokes, love cranking Ed Sheeran through my headphones, I still don’t like it when people talk too close to my face, I also still hate small talk and want to hear about the deep things, I still freaking love pretzels and fruit roll-ups. But in many ways I am new, so anything I will do from here on out will be the new thing. I have a lot of dreams…trust me there is no shortage of those, but I think it’s going to take God some time to put them in order.
I have been asking God to show me the way to go home. Life is going to be different. It may seem to you that this might be a giant relief; to no longer have to worry about your bodies reaction to the local water and not knowing if you will have a consistent toilet available, to no longer have to look in the eyes of street boys who are addicted to sniffing glue to keep warm at night, to not have to wear your purse at the front of your body, to have a tent be the only thing keeping malaria away from you, to meet a woman who thinks that her only value is in her body—so she sells it. You might think we will be in less danger when we come home, but that wouldn’t be true. We’re in danger alright. We are in danger of becoming who we were before. We are in danger of not dreaming anymore. We are in danger of only thinking about ourselves, and our own lives. We are in danger of being incredibly comfortable. We are in danger of forgetting how much we need Jesus, how much we love him, and how much the world needs him. We are in danger of settling, of acquiring a dormant spirit. We are in danger of the World Race being the highlight of our lives.
Please don’t misunderstand. We can’t wait to see you. We think about home a lot in month 10. Every other prayer request is to stay present, to fight against our bodies being here but our brains and hearts being at home. Don’t for a second think that I didn’t miss going for a midnight walk with my sister in the snow on Christmas Eve that I had every year before, or that I didn’t weep when I found out one of my friends broke her neck in a car accident and I couldn’t cheer for her as she walked for the first time, or that you or my life at home are not important to me anymore. Because it’s not true, not even a little.
But to us it was, and continues to be worth it. Because we have written things on this journey that are written in eternity. Our souls aren’t the same. You can’t feel what we’ve felt, seen what we’ve seen, heard what we’ve heard, been humbled like we have been humbled—and not change.
We probably know a lot more, about a lot more than we did before. We know what its like to be the minority. We know what its like to have almost no control of anything other than your attitude. We know what our inadequacies are, but we also know a little bit more about our strengths. We try to please people a little less, and God a little more. We know a ridiculous amount of different currencies, and probably know how to say hello, how are you, and Jesus loves you in plenty of different languages. We have lived among cockroaches and hung our clothes to dry on anything that stands far enough above the ground. We pray harder prayers, and say harder things. We have seen the glory of God in 11 different countries, we have probably cried in more of them than we haven’t. We have laughed in all of them. We’ve been broken over and again about the sin of the world, and we’ve held lots of small hands and tickled plenty of distended bellies. You will soon learn that we speak a different language, though its still technically english…and words or phrases like vulnerability, press in, call you higher, feedback, saying the thing, will come out of our mouths and we’re sorry about that. We gotten on shady buses that we shouldn’t have, but we felt Gods protection like never before. We know that the world is a lot less of a scary place than most people think it is, and that if we, humanity, become less scary and more like Him then it wouldn’t be a scary place at all. We’ve probably eaten spiders, or dog, or Balut—and as you grimace, we will glow in pride that we kept it down. We wanted to come home many different times, but then somehow we were reminded of why we came in the first place. We experienced the Holy Spirit like it was freaking pentacost, and that’s probably going to freak you out when we talk about it. Its biblical we promise, and once we learned more about how big God was it didn’t seem that weird, still miraculous nonetheless. We probably have no, or maybe less shame then we did before. Both in the serious sense, getting past our past, and also in the sense that we will talk about things that don’t belong in civilized conversations like bathroom disasters, diva cups, and that weird rash…We will want you to ask us questions because that’s easier than explaining the 10,794 revelations we had while we were gone. We worshipped in public, and people came and joined us, and we danced—so when you see us leave the pew or the chairs in church because there is not enough room for dancing and random arm movements during worship, don’t worry. We may eat a little faster than we used to, and a bit more savage at that, because when the bus leaves in minutes and you’re out in the bush…you have to pound that fried chicken home pretty quick and catch that bus. We’ve journaled, taken pictures, and reflected more than we ever have in our lives—ask to see those. We definitely have more piercings and tattoos than when we left…just go with it…our bodies are temples why not decorate the walls, right? We will probably talk about each other all. the. time. Get used to “my squadmate”, “one of my best friends”, “my sister” when you hear us talk about one another. We have been through so much good, and bad, and ugly, and hilarious with each other—we won’t be able to help it. You’re also probably going to experience a more free person, because we left a whole lot of condemnation and chains behind on this thing—at it was beautiful. Believe us when we tell you absurd things, because they are true even though they couldn’t be. Like when we tell you about how we got attacked by wild horses, or how we saw someone get healed right in front of our eyes, or how we were considered criminals for spreading the gospel. We will probably want to be alone sometimes, don’t worry about us. We just need to be still with God, and to bask in being alone when you’ve been sleeping next to snorers, living with loud chewers, and been in constant awareness of getting feedback for not sharing the oreos. After the dust settles, we’re going to want to get moving again. There’s a hopeless wanderer in most of us, go with us on a hike or let us frolic in that cornfield. Let us wander away a little, we promise to wander back eventually. We are also probably going to have thinner skin, and be more tender hearted when we return—so remember to be gentle with us. We apologize in advance for any breakdowns, fits of crying, or being easily offended that might find its way to you. We might also possibly have a deeper hatred for mosquitoes than when we left, so when you hear “death to you and your relatives!” we are not talking to you, we are probably smacking one of them on our arm. I could go on about how we might be different, but the best way to find out, is to ask us.
We might need some time, but we want to tell you. Boy, do we have stories. Please don’t be afraid of us being different. It’s a very, very good thing. We’re afraid of you being afraid of us being different. We are still your son, daughter, friend, sister, brother, cousin, boyfriend, girlfriend, teammate, roommate—we’re just a little more whole. Our soul has met the creator like it hasn’t before and we might be glowing a bit.
So this is where I am at, and I don’t think that I am the only one. I want big things. I might be a little bit confused for a while, lost in the right direction if you will. But I would be lying if I were to say I am not a little scared to come home. So please be careful with us when we—now strangers, walk back into a strange land. Remember that what just happened to us, it wasn’t just a trip. It was life, and it was revolutionary.
Sincerely,
Your Wayward Son or Daughter
