I have changed and I’ll never be the same again.
I look down at my bare feet painted with Ugandan dirt from walking the dusty roads and the two pale strips that blanch the tops of my feet, proving my Teva sandal tan-lines.
Besides the squeals and shrills of naked children playing with bugs behind our small compound, the air is calm and quiet. I look up to see vibrantly dressed women making the journey home as they carry hefty water jugs on top of their heads and waving to me with a face-full of smiles as they pass by.
My family of teammates are spread out, some having personal quiet time with the Lord while they sing softly in worship, others having one-on-one conversations together about something deep and meaningful- you know, the real, raw kind of stuff in life that makes you think and plants new perspectives and growth inside your head.
The wind blows and a piece of my freshly hand-washed laundry drops off the line it’s been drying on into the dirt. I get up from where I sit to rinse it off at the outdoor spicket, the only source of running water we have, and ring it out tightly before spreading it back on the thin cord. I find myself thinking about the luxury of a washing machine and dryer until the happy thought plagues me. I suddenly feel the insides of my stomach churn around like the whirlpool of a flushed toilet as I meditate on placing my feet back on US soil in just a few days. Instantly hot tears spring up and sting my eyes as I realize that all of this culture and lifestyle and everything that surrounds me is now normal to me. Everything I’ve experienced and seen and learned this past year has become my comfort zone. There comes a point at which you’ve been gone for so long and changed so much that home becomes something foreign and you find yourself dreading the return…
I thought I was going on a missions trip. I thought I was putting my life on “pause” for a year. I thought I was OK before I left America for 11 months.
What I quickly found out was that I wasn’t OK, this was actually the springboard into finally jumpstarting my life, and it was so…so much more than a missions trip.
There was one sure thing burning down in the depths of my core that I had always been mysteriously certain about, long before I even left on this 11 month journey: I knew that the moment I agreed to take this leap of faith into all of the unknowns, the moment I boarded the plane to take me out of America, the moment my ‘yes’ had become an earnest commitment, that the most difficult and terrifying part about this entire thing was going to be returning home. I was right.
Even saying the word now I’m asking myself “where exactly is home?”
We’ve all heard the overly exhausted phrase ‘home is where the heart is.’ Well let me tell you something, my heart is scattered in multiple places all over this magnificent world. Every country I’ve been to, all of the different, unsure, and interesting places I’ve laid my head each night, every host family I’ve formed deep friendships with, all of the multiple and beautifully unique cultures I’ve saturated myself in, all of the people I’ve prayed over, every dirty and lice-ridden child I’ve held, every breathtaking landscape I’ve stepped on, every deeply rich sunset that has drown the land in color, all of the welcoming hugs and warm smiles from so many people, each dirt floor I’ve sat on in strangers’ homes as they’ve doted me with loving hospitality, every Spirit-breathed word that has poured out of my mouth over groups of listeners, every abused, orphaned, and sex-trafficked child I’ve met and had to walk away from while holding onto the confidence that our Heavenly Father will never walk away from them, every tear I’ve shared with a broken-hearted friend, every rooster-crowing sunrise that brought the promise of a new and exciting morning, all of the many, many different languages I’ve worshipped in next to my foreign brothers and sisters all giving praises to the same Creator, all of the seemingly uncomfortable situations I’ve found myself in, every deep Christ-filled conversation I’ve shared with someone, every time I’ve displayed myself being undignified for the sake of my Christ, each pair of hopeless eyes that have been stricken with pain I’ve looked into, every long, bumpy, nauseating, off-road drive in the back of a pickup truck through the jungle to bring the Gospel to the unreached, every hard testimony I’ve heard, every HIV/AIDs victim I’ve met that is struggling with survival, every nation I’ve stretched my hands upon to call out the name of the Lord over, all of my squad-mates who have become my family, every unexpected, ridiculous, and hilarious experience I’ve had to think quick on my feet with, and every ground I’ve hit my knees on in prayer and worship, all were left with a piece of my broken and wrecked heart.
The abnormal has become my normal. Killing live chickens for dinner, eating bugs, cold bucket showers once a week, hand washing clothes and dishes, frequent power outages, sleeping under bug nets, instant coffee, squatty potties, throwing my toilet paper in the trash, no WiFi, living out of a backpack, talking to strangers everyday, owning 3 shirts and 1 pair of pants…all of these things have become my comforts.
I don’t know how to process the thought of returning to America because that life I left behind there is a square and I’ve become a circle; I’m not sure how to fit my circle back into my square.
This doesn’t take away from the excitement I have of hugging and kissing and laughing with my family and friends back in America and I truly cannot wait to see them and share the many revelations that the Lord has shown me this year and to hear all about their year as well.
I’m not asking for sympathy and I don’t want any pity. I’m only asking for the grace and patience to understand that I’m not the same person I was 11 months ago. None of us are. I’ve changed in the best ways I know, not in ways that I am any better than anyone else or more “holy” than the next person. But my desires have changed, my perceptions have changed, my passions have changed, my relationship with the Lord has greatly changed, and my soul and heart have changed. I’ve seen and experienced things that have rocked my world and broken me apart.
This journey never ends. It’s only the beginning of something great that God is going to do through me and so many others. This journey was never about me and it still isn’t. I know that the Lord has set my heart on fire for the multiple nations and cultures and countries so much that I will be back to them once again scattering a heart full of Jesus to leave in many places.
I did not go on a trip. I walked in obedience to where the Lord was calling me, taking His hand and following Him on the start of a life long journey. I did not put my life on pause for a year. My life started the day I left America and I’ve never felt so alive before. I am still a mess of broken pieces. But because of Him, because He has picked up the broken pieces along every step of the way, because He holds me in the palm of His hand, I have been made more whole and more complete than I ever have been before.
And so, the journey continues.
