I got in the car, ready for a new type of travel day. One that consisted of a grandmother travel day buddy instead of Jenni and Johnny as the driver instead of a foreign national. My Uncle Carl was the co-pilot and Brian, my logistics leader, was no where to be seen.
I had to take a couple deep breaths because it just felt strange to be in a car instead of a janky bus with 34533 airporters stuffed around us.
Grandmother started the morning out asking me how I keep my blush on and I admitted that it was actually the first day in a while that I’d actually worn any. She didn’t seem to be interested in the time line as much as the secret attached to how it stayed on my face. We started working through it when I asked her what type she used and she stated matter of factly that she used Lipstick.
I choked on my protein shake (no shame, I love them) and said, Lipstick?
I nearly died laughing and told her I thought we’d found the problem.
Oh man, first world problems.
The day I was supposed to come home got delayed 12 hours due to a dog overheating in the cargo hold and us missing our plane by 11ish minutes. It left us sleeping in DC and a little more rested than we originally planned as we landed in Knoxvegas and bee bopped our way through the airport into the arms of our FAMILIES!!
Oh the love and surprises that greeted me just beyond that security checkpoint. Pure and utter joy. I felt so loved and missed and it was one of the best moments of my life as I hugged necks I’d desperately missed and laughed and smiled and took pictures with people I loved more than a steaming latte with splenda and skim milk.
Once the dust settled, I have found being home, interesting. It’s affirmed that I have indeed changed, more than maybe I realized and it’s painfully obvious that my heart is still in Kenya. Or Uganda. Or South Africa. Or really just the African continent.
I miss it, a lot. And yet it’s this weird tango of emotions of loving being home amongst my peeps and yearning for the faces that melted my heart and helped regenerate the heart that beats for Jesus and Him alone.
I knew once I got home, ate some chikfila, got 3G for a couple days straight, and slept in a real bed, that I would miss it all. But in the heat of the moment, the desire to be home was greater than my desire to stay.
I struggled embracing the last few days of the Race. I could make excuses or validate why I wished each moment to pass at turbo speed but playing what ifs is pointless.
I learned a lot this year. My sleepy eyeballs witnessed a bunch and my cardiac muscle broke so many times for the tragedy and chaos encircling us that I thought some days I might never recuperate.
So as I get used to American life again, I talk about the Race and I do a little grieving and rejoicing as I remember. I sleep some but mostly I sit and I soak this in.
This season of new.
When I got home, I realized my belongings had been packed up and put in storage and the thought of sorting through boxes and boxes of shoes and clothes and dresses literally brought tears to my eyes. That’s certainly not the old me.
So who is this new girl staring at me in the mirror?
Well for one, I have more wrinkles around my eyes and my laugh lines are super defined. Because I did that a lot last year.
Laughed.
Sometimes I feel like an old soul, recounting old war stories and feeling like 86 instead of a mid twenty something that paints her nails blue and whips her bangs back and forth.
I’m in Florida hanging out for a few weeks so we googled “great non denominational church” and one popped up that we checked it out and were pleasantly surprised.
The worship was amazing and though not many swayed or danced around like my African countrymen, people were loving being in the presence of God and our hearts were more than ready to receive the Word the Lord placed on the Pastors heart.
He talked, of all things, about finishing the race. He shared about the various seasons we might be in— whether we are about to end the race, trusting the process of having finished the race or maybe we need to start one in order to have one to finish.
I don’t think it was by chance that we meandered into that house of God Sunday…
This morning I was struck by Luke 17 and the various stories told and how time and again, Jesus tells people to “Arise and go”
Arise and go where?
I thought about it and realized I miss ministry. I miss the children and the people who made my heart swell with love. But as servant’s of the Most High, aren’t we always supposed to be loving and forgiving and throwing out grace over offenses and spreading this great love Jesus has for us?
You know, arising and going. Picking ourselves up and going after it. No matter where we are.
Since I’ve been home, I have moments where I feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m struggling for breath amidst so much unfamiliar which was once so familiar. I look for a baby to hold or an old man to smile at who probably spent the night on the streets and I find none. It’s like I just wanna hold onto the memories to carry me into the future. But if I’m trying to save myself, I’ll lose me. Yet if I lose me, I’ll preserve my life. That scripture used to make me nervous giggle because I simply didn’t understand.
But I think I’m beginning to catch on. Trying to hold onto the past of what the Race was, what it meant to me, how I changed and who I am now is futile in a sense. It’s good to remember and its even ok to cherish the memories, yet, the old is gone and the new is here.
The season of what was is precious. It was harder than anything I’ve ever attempted and it will always be special to me, but it’d be a crying shame to stay in that place of old war stories and neglect the opportunity Christ has stewarded to me as I embark on a new expedition in America.
The Race may be over, but really, life is just beginning. I have this unique chance to apply what Jesus taught me for 11 months at home. It’s hard but it’s good and I love a little spice mixed with a challenge so I plan to dive in feet first.
Growing is painful and trusting the Lord in this season of new is uncomfortable yet beautiful. It’s a new month and a new country. God’s still sending me out to love people because He’s inside of me. I didn’t drop Him at baggage claim and He didn’t ditch me on the runway. Bind up my broken heart and breathe into my heart the Words straight from Your heart. Sorry if I got caught up in me, myself and I and thank you for that all consuming grace. Thanks for a family who gets me—the old and the new—and thanks for the way they love me. Lord I give it all to you, totally and completely. I know you’re laughing as I freak out by all the choices in the soup isle and I know it warms your heart to see me in a real church, trying to worship and learn and grow.
I’m here, Lord, and I’m ready to go. So I declare it from this little coffee shop in Florida. Here I am. Send me. I’m ready to arise and go.
