Dear Home,
I’ve been thinking about this one for a long time. What I’d say, how I’d try to explain what these past eleven months have been to me, done to me. Because it’s more than what I’ve seen and who I’ve met. It’s what I’ve learned and who I’ve become because of it. And as of right now, I don’t think I even have the words to convey everything that’s going through my head and my heart when I think about home.
But this week part of what we’ve been asked to do is process what the heck happened this year and what going home looks like. So come along with me on this journey; here are a few things I think it’s good for you to know that are going through my head right now. This is one way I’m trying to communicate; this is where I am and this is what I’d like you to know about that place. This is a taste of what it looks like.
But please, more than anything else, see this as an invitation. This is me extending a hand. You don’t have to take it, but I thought you should at least get the chance to accept it or turn it down.
So here we go.
It might be a rough transition.
I’m used to throwing toilet paper in the trash at all costs and living from a wardrobe of shirts I can count on one hand. I can pack everything I own in under half an hour and I’m pretty sure there’s only one pair of faithful gym shorts that have made it through the entire Race with me. I’m used to trickles of water coming out of the faucet (if we have a faucet) and slow wifi.
Ice cubes and hand towels (well, any kind of towel) have become luxuries along with hot water and hand soap. Even running water sometimes blows my mind. Home cooked meals . . . I still don’t have any words for them.
I adore long car rides where I can put my headphones in and zone out for a little while. I’ve gotten used to never being by myself. There have been moments that fact alone has threatened my sanity, but I know as soon as my people scatter like the colorful petals of a flower in a child’s wishing game when our feet hit the terminal floor in San Fransisco, I’m going to miss my beautiful, dysfunctional family.
I knew coming into this that we’d all be different, but I’ve never met so many people so incredibly, wonderfully different from myself. Has that led to friction sometimes? Yes. Have there been moments of discomfort and awkwardness? Absolutely. Have they pushed me and loved me and made an effort to see me day in and day out this year? Have they pushed me to never quit and made sure I never settled for anything less than God’s fullness for me?
Undoubtedly.
Honestly, I’m not sure what to expect when I go home. Obviously I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the past several weeks, but the only solid answer I can come to is that I don’t know.
I don’t know if the cereal aisle in the grocery store is going to give me a panic attack because it has one hundred different options or if walking through the doors of a mall is going to make me turn around and walk back out again. I don’t know if random things are going to remind me of that one place that one time and will launch me into a ten minute story of a country you’ve barely heard of or if there’ll be moments where everything just gets to be too much and I’ll break down and cry at inopportune and frustrating times.
It may be none of those things, it may be all of them. I just don’t know. And I can only prepare for so much. So basically I’m expecting for this process of transition/ re-entry/ going home, whatever you want to call it, to surprise me. I’m expecting it to grab hold of me at unexpected times and throw me into longing for scenery and smells and food and faces I haven’t seen in too long. And I’m not sure how all of you fit into this process quite yet.
It’s good to let people in, I have learned that much this year, but have grace with me if I don’t jump at the first or second opportunities. There’s a lot that’s happened this year and I’m not sure how to unpack it and let you in. There are things I’ve seen and moments I’ve been a part of that, as snobby as it sounds, you kind of had to have been there to understand. How do I use mere words to convey to you what it’s like to see homes ravaged by floods? To see people stream out of their houses, desperate for a few mouthfuls of food? To spend a few hours with people who’ve been displaced from their homes by circumstances beyond their control? But they don’t have a choice in where they live. And when it’s safe enough, they’ll go back, clean up, and start over. Even if they’re evacuated again the next day.
There are things I want to tell you. And to be fair, there are probably some stories I may never share with you, stories that I may choose to keep tucked close to my heart in that secret place only God and I can ever share, because only he truly understands what it was like to walk those miles spiritually, emotionally, and physically.
But that being said, I really would like to invite you to ask me about it as I figure out how to share with you. Because I have changed, I’ve learned a lot about myself and people and the world. And I know you’ve changed and grown too, you have a year of memories and experiences that I want to catch up on with you. I know you can’t tell me everything in one sitting so please don’t expect me to be able to share everything in the same amount of time either, that’s just silly.
If you ask me how my “trip” was, I’ll probably tell you it was “good.” And just so you know, it wasn’t just a trip. It was eleven months. It’s become a culture, a way of life, a normal, an expected. If I hadn’t been traveling and we were only just seeing each other for the first time in a year, you wouldn’t ask me how my trip was.
So if you genuinely want to know, please ask me specifics. Ask me who stands out to me when I think of a particular country. Ask me about a question one of my blogs provoked in you. Even ask me what my favorite country was if you want, but if you ask me more than once or overhear someone else asking the same question, don’t be surprised to hear a different answer. There are so many questions to be asked and (as I’m a verbal processor) it’ll be super helpful for me if you help me out in this way.
Because if I’m honest, there’s a lot that scares me about going home. I’m scared I won’t be what or who you’re expecting and I’m scared that if I see that confusion or uncertainty in your face I’ll be tempted to shape myself back into the person I’ve been before; the girl who bends over backward to make people accept her. I’ve earned some hard won freedom from those walls that both protected me and hemmed me in. And I’m just going to have to get over the fact that who I am now isn’t going to be everyone’s favorite person. She’s strong and opinionated and wild and beautiful and fierce. And it may not come across in the first glance and that’s okay.
I’m scared that people won’t care, that it’ll just be an, oh-you’re-back-I-should-probably-ask-you-how-it-went conversation. Maybe you’ll only want the one word answer. Maybe you’ll want the two minute answer. And that’s actually okay because I do have the people who will want the eight-hour spill-your-heart-and-your-guts-out-no-tears-barred conversations. And somewhere between all of those different talks, I’ll get what I need to hear; that it’s okay to grieve the loss of a season, that it takes time and it’s okay for me to not be over it just because it’s over.
Mel, Bex, Ally, Lo, Jess, Nai, Kasie, Jess, Marah, Monica, Haley, Ash, Tessa, Elyssa, Shea, Anna, Hannah, Lynden, and Murby have become my home in a way that’s hard to describe. I mentioned before that we’re all so different and it’s true; they’ve shaped me and changed me and helped push me into who I am now and some of these girls know me better than just about anyone. I could write a whole blog on them, but for now, I’ll leave it at this; we’ve laughed, loved, hated, fought, cried, sang, and danced together and we have a years’ worth of memories that only we will ever truly be able to understand. It’s going to take a while to get used to odd concepts like being alone, not having to constantly use the buddy system, or going to sleep in a room without at least five of them. And they were with me as I left my heart in a million different places this year.
Part of my heart will forever be with a little girl who insists on holding my hand on the way to school each morning. She doesn’t have any hair and is missing her two front teeth and we don’t speak the same language, yet somehow we understand each other.
Part of my heart is with a fierce princess in Swaziland, one who hides a smile behind a scowl. She’ll insist that she doesn’t like hugs, but if you tease her enough and sit not-so-quietly by her side through the ups and downs that rage around her, you’ll catch glimpses of her enormous heart and her huge capacity to love.
Part of my heart will always be with the waves in J-Bay and a surfing lesson. Part of it is in a kitchen in Malaysia with an adoptive Uncle and Auntie. And part of it will be in the Philippines with twins who love to torment each other and beautiful babies who just wanted a few minutes of my time, a few smiles and games and the love I had to spare.
What are some of the things I’ll miss? I’ve been trying to figure that out recently because I want to know and fully understand what I have before it’s gone. One thing that stuck out to me is the kids. Now maybe that seems trivial or cliche, but hear me out. When you’re in some of the places I’ve gone this year, seeing someone like me is a treat (don’t ask me why, I’d never before been able to say I’m an exotic beauty, but sometimes the truth hits you upside the head unexpectedly). They will shout and scream and come running to greet you with a welcome and abandon for which I don’t have a precedent. Their stunning smiles are stretched wide across their faces as they jostle one another to hold your hand or get you to spin them around or flip them or give them a piggy back ride. It’s so simple, it’s the easiest thing in the world. It takes basically nothing on my part. And yet it makes their day, maybe even more than that. It’s who can get to me first. It’s who can get two high fives. It’s the exuberant joy woven seamlessly into the poverty that is their world.
I’m going to miss the community of my people I’ve had this year. Don’t get me wrong; I love you and all of you are still my people, but there were times this year, a lot of them in fact, when you weren’t there for me. You couldn’t be. And by being brave enough to send me on this trip, you were brave enough to entrust me to these brilliant people. They’re worthy of your trust. Together we’ve created a space of safety and the unity of shared memories, the places our feet have touched, the people who’ve left their names etched into our hearts, the tears we shed when we didn’t think we could keep going.
I’m going to miss them.
I’m going to miss their constant presence, even though sometimes it’s suffocating.
I’m going to miss staying up until we’re allowed to turn on the Air Con by playing cards or Rummikub.
I’m going to miss the sound of laughter from a one on one floating through the window way too late at night.
I’m going to miss all the geckos that climb the walls in every country outside of the US.
I’m going to miss Dewberry cookies, Aquells, and copious amounts of vanilla Coke.
I’m going to miss street noodles, runs to the nearest tienda past bedtime, and naan bread.
I’m going to miss doing this kind of work everyday, breathing in a new culture and a new country every month, living out of a bag, and picking a new spot for God and I to share our mornings every few weeks.
So, yeah, it’s been hard. It might be the hardest thing I’ve done to date, but I hope you can tell that it’s been worth it. It’s been so, so worth it. And I can’t wait to tell you all about it. But have grace with me, give me time. Don’t expect me to have it all figured out and I’ll extend the same grace to you.
I love you all.
Love and looking forward to seeing you soon,
TL
P.S. If you’re interested, below I’m going to post a blog that was shared with me specifically designed to help people welcome their loved ones home after they’ve been out of country for a while. I know this was a long post, but if you’re up for it, it’s worth the read.
https://velvetashes.com/how-to-welcome-her-back/
