To the ones back home,
I’ve started writing this blog many times. I’ve been going over in my head what I want to say to you all, trying to figure out how to process all of this and how to get ready to come home. There have been times this year when home has been on my mind. I would think of my Auburn home, as detailed in one of my past blogs. I would think of my family and friends. I would think of Chick-fil-a and good Mexican food. As the Race has neared the end, my future classroom has been on the forefront of my mind. But the truth is, there were many more days when home didn’t even cross my mind at all.
Home is a funny concept. Some consider home a building. Some consider it a family. Some consider home to be the place you belong. After this year, I have belonged in many places. I belonged in the front of the room, leading children’s songs for my girls’ home in Thailand. I belonged in the small hut teaching English vowel sounds to orphans in Ethiopia. I belonged in the church sanctuary as I used my limited Spanish to teach bible stories in Peru.
My normal is very, very different. It’s normal to have no control or even information about where I’m going and what I’m doing. It’s normal to take cold showers, or even to have to use a bucket. I don’t think twice about blowing up my sleeping pad to sleep on the floor for months at a time; I’ve even got a tent if I need it. It’s normal to take 20 hour bus rides and travel for several days at a time. It’s normal to feel like I’m constantly unpacking and repacking and unpacking and repacking and unpacking and repacking. It’s normal to feel caught in a cycle of hellos and goodbyes. It’s normal to stay up late with my teammates playing cards or watching movies. It’s normal to bust out in spontaneous worship sessions because someone brought out the guitar. It’s normal to talk about the goodness of the Lord and how He is speaking to us.
It’s common for Racers to dread the unstoppable question, “How was it?” I can’t even begin to answer it. This “trip” was my life. It wasn’t a vacation or a quick visit. It was my life. My new normal. My home for a time.
This year has been every adjective you can imagine. I’ve cried over orphans and danced during worship and laughed around the table and screamed at giant bugs. I’ve been stretched in every way possible, from living without running water to organizing logistical details for my team.
This year will forever be etched on my heart. I’m sure I’ll still be sharing stories 30 years from now. Ask about my favorite ministry, the hardest country, the weirdest thing I ate, the lessons I learned, the people I will never forget. (You know how much I talk about Guatemala, and I was only there for two months!)
With all of these stories and emotions, I’m going to need space to grieve. In the same day that I embrace all that is familiar, I’m saying goodbye to one of the most transformative years of my life. I’m closing the door to a year of travel and spontaneous adventures and community. I’m saying goodbye to the 50 people I have spent every day with, many of which have become like family.
I’m asking you to have grace for me during this time. I’ll probably share inside jokes that aren’t at all funny to you. I’ll probably be astonished every time I see the price of anything, especially food items. (Can you say $5 per day food budget?!) I may want to show you 5 million pictures, or I may want to be alone. I may decide to sleep on my sleeping pad just to reminisce. I may get overwhelmed in the grocery store and start crying. (Racers always joke about that, but then they always come back and say it really happened. After all, we’ve been shopping at local markets.) I’ll probably be surprised when strangers speak English to me.
I’m still the same Kayla. I’ll take any offer to get a nice latte, and I spend way too much time on Pinterest. I still wear headbands in my hair, and I now more than ever talk about my classroom. I am itching for some Auburn football, and I plan to keep a glass of sweet tea in my hand. Besides the tattoo on my wrist and the few extra pounds (rice for daysss), I pretty much look the same.
But I hope that in some ways, you recognize that I am not the same. You may not see it at first, but my core has been changed. I have a fresh perspective of the phrase “kingdom come.” I have grown in confidence in my understanding of God’s character, my knowledge of the Bible, my trust in the power of the Holy Spirit, and my awareness of the spiritual realm. I’m more rooted, more steady, more confident.
I may not return like how you expected me to, but the Lord has started a good work in me. He’s still working, and I’m still learning to listen. On June 22, I step foot on American soil for the first time in 11 months. And with everything that’s been said, I can’t wait to share this journey with you.
See you soon,
Kayla
