After 40+ hours of busing, flying, and adrenaline-charged excitement, we landed in Chicago! [photo cred: Rachel Workman]
I promptly discovered that my luggage was lost along the way… but no matter.
We were home.
I fell teary-eyed into the arms of good friends in Chicago. They welcomed me into their home for the evening, where I found hand towels and soap. Hot, running water. A full-sized towel after my (reeeeeeaaaally nice) shower. Even that 5×6 bathroom space was a bit overwhelming!
My friends were so understanding of the need to rest. We talked, laughed, caught up and slept, then after sharing a homemade cappuccino the next morning, I sprinted to my gate to make the flight to Detroit.
As the plane was landing, I found myself feeling nervous. What would it be like to see my family after almost a year? I collected myself and walked out to the arrivals section… and to balloons, flowers, loving parents and a dear sister and brother from Phoenix who were there to surprise me.
…long hugs.
I ate the first meal I dreamed about so often on the Race.
My sister painted my nails, and I got a haircut (finally).
I threw away a few “hole-y” clothing items and picked up some much-needed new ones.
I took another shower with really nice water pressure and crawled into my own bed (in a room all by myself) for the first time in 11 months.
Luxury.
But with all the joy and celebration, for the first few days, I was completely over-stimulated. Even though the things around me were “familiar”, they were still “new”, after so many months.
I had to re-learn my family’s culture. I had to get used to having consistent internet and a phone again. I even had to re-learn what a laundry machine was called (with much “No-more-hand-washing!” gratitude).
My body is still recovering. I still don’t have a car. I might have a parasite or two (that’s normal). I miss my squad family and our Race culture like crazy.
But in the midst of these re-entry challenges – and during the times when I unexpectedly tear up while eating a cucumber because it reminds me of a meal we ate in Malaysia – one thing is becoming very clear to me: God is my home.
He was there in Pattaya, Thailand, in the eyes of the prostitutes we saw searching for life, and in the hearts of eight of my squadmates who entered into new life through baptism on that ocean-beach. [photo cred: Bee Davis]
He was there in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, even in the cramped cells of the S-21 concentration camp: a sickening place of so much death. And He was there in the womb of a 21-year-old girl whose ultrasound revealed a tiny heartbeat: new life.
He was there in Puerto Galera, the Philippines, when we mourned a mother’s son electrocuted during the typhoon. And He was there when we celebrated the provision of all the materials needed for a new birthing clinic in the community.
He was there the oh, so many times He asked me to die to myself this year and to let go of the “idols” I held in awe before Him. And He’ll be there to gently cultivate the tiny green plants of new growth in my soul, as He calls forth my new identity in Christ every day.
Wherever He calls us next, there will be new life there, too. Because He will be there. And He is Life.
