Today is one of those days.
It’s one of those weeks.
Maybe it’s one of those months.
I’m freezing cold; my feet are numb and I feel my bones shivering even as I’m bundled in my hoodie, leggings, jeans and beanie while wrapped under blankets in my bed.
I’m still sick; my throat is killing me and my head is beyond congested. My cough keeps me up all night. (Hopefully, it doesn’t do the same for the three other girls sharing a room with me, although they have yet to say anything.)
I’m stir crazy; I have cabin fever and want badly to go do something in town like door to door ministry or a cliché bible skit.
I have no energy; I’m exhausted and drained. Even though we’ve done absolutely nothing but lounge around the castle until this morning.
My stomach processes the delicious food that my nose smells and grumbles with desire; then it turns a 180 and sneers, saying, “I dare you to put something in here and then you’ll see what happens. That won’t stay down for more than a minute!”
This culture saddens me; women are basically viewed as nothing and can’t even speak in church. We were spat at by a man on the street for no apparent reason. People tend to walk by us with their heads down and not acknowledge us.
For the first time in four months, I have no urge to journal. I don’t want to write. I usually write pages a day about what I’m reading, what we did, what I learned, but right now I don’t even care to write a sentence about the day. I haven’t even opened my bible or journal, with the exception of church Sunday, since my last day in Chincha—that was over two weeks ago.
In my head, I want to read my bible and get some sort of inspiration- perhaps even turn to a Psalm and sympathize with David- but I have no longing, no urge, no prompting, no desire.
I miss my family. Maybe it’s because they are actually time zones away now and I can’t talk to them when it’s a good time for me because they are usually not even awake yet. I have been Snapchatting (I just made up a new verb) with my youngest sister a lot and that makes it a little better.
I miss everything in Uganda and, for once, I don’t want to talk about it. All Race, people have asked me about Francis, about the kids, about the ministry, about my friends, about the culture, whatever, and I light up and tell them anything and everything I can think of that I love or that I did or that I can’t wait to get back to. But now people ask me and I give the shortest one-word answers possible because I don’t want to talk about it or I might just shatter into a million tiny pieces and cry.
Frankly, I guess I feel depressed.
I don’t want to get out of my bed.
Whether it’s from the sickness, the cold, or just the culture, I’m not sure.
Whatever it is, there’s something that just won’t let me up.
I hope you’re not looking for a “but” because there isn’t one here. There’s no profound thought or lesson that will make you, the reader, think that it’s all worthwhile; that there’s a light at the end of this depressing tunnel I just painted for you.
I have no words to make you see how God revealed himself to me through this.
And I’m not looking for a lesson from my readers. I’m not hoping that someone will chime in with some elaborate comment down below and suddenly I’ll be blinded by the insight that God gave me through them.
Nope, it’s not one of those blogs.
This is just real emotion.
This is just me venting and processing what I’m going through.
I guess this is me showing that life on the Race isn’t perfect. It’s not all mountaintop highs and wonderful times where God reveals himself.
There are definitely times of valleys on the Race and these valleys are some of the lowest that we’ve ever experienced.
I’ve heard a few other teammates talk about feeling this way also, so I know I’m not alone, but, quite frankly, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
