Ya know, I think I missed this…
Today is a significant day in my life. This morning I woke up to my alarm at 5:30 AM to make sure I had enough time for prayer and finishing up some last-minute assignments before class. True to habit, I got out of bed, shut off my alarm, and went back to bed until 7:00 AM. Guess placing my alarm across the room hasn’t worked as well as I’d hoped.
I had left to do nine months of missions work overseas in strange countries, and now it has been about nine months since I returned to the USA. I have been gone from the Race for as long as a Race, and thats a strange thought. I wonder if who I was on the Race anticipated who I would be now.
Well, despite my best efforts I am a student at a small Christian college (UNWSP) in the Twin Cities pursuing a degree in “Communication Arts and Literary Education”- that’s a fancy name for an English teacher. When I graduate I’ll also leave here with a minor in Bible and another one in Writing. I don’t know why I need a Writing minor along with my entire English major, but it was God’s idea so I couldn’t refuse.
It’s interesting how God blesses people who do what He tells them to do, and I have been such a victim. Through His outstretched hand God has reached out and gifted me with a Godly community and forever friends. There has never been a day where my basic needs weren’t provided and my health is stable (except I still have some issues with milk, but most of my roommates do. There’s something consoling about suffering the attacks of dairy with your friends.) Unlike many of the students at my school I have yet to find a suitable match for a “ring by spring”, but I’m quite content with my tribe of roomies. I host powwows with tea and emotional conversations about life just about every night in my room, so my schedule is already low on wiggle room as it is. Between classes, homework, building community, and the occasional game of One Night Werewolf, there just isn’t enough room for a beau.
This blog post has gone to strange places and quite off course. I did eventually get out of bed this morning and scrambled through my last-minute assignments. Breakfast was yogurt, oats, and sliced apples, a college dorm delicacy. I could have pulled out the $3 espresso machine for a honey latte, but since I am a freshman and require to take the most expensive dining plan known to man, I got a mint mocha latte at the cafe, along with an iced toffee nut latte with almond milk for my roommate and a cranberry orange muffin for me. Final consensus: cranberry orange muffins are yummy but they go down like a brick. Don’t eat muffins.
Four classes and a chapel break later, and I am now sitting in a library writing this queer blog nine months after nine months of crazy. The whole squad made jokes about the weirdo who was gonna keep their blog going after the Race was done. They thought it would be crazy if someone did that, and I agreed, but when these jokes were made I said nothing because I knew it was me. There’s homework to do and people to consul in the dorm therapy chair and tea to be brewed, but I did not have my time with the Lord today. Somehow sitting with Him brought me here, back to this little blog.
When I first came home after the Race I thought my thirst for adventure had finally been quenched. I had literally circled the world, traveling to so many places and seeing so many things. I loved that trip, and I hated it too. Theres a Santa bag of emotions that expose themselves after events of immense experience and trauma. The Race was hard, it make me feel shame and disgust in ways I did not expect. Even my birthday was tainted with this darkness- for as my teammates gifted me the most beautiful picnic under swaying trees, little children followed, and looked on, and stared us down with their hungry eyes. We were told not to give things away unless we could give our time, but all the time was given to me, so I neglected to give it to them. I allowed them to steal food, but I didn’t give any and that moment has haunted me ever since. I have come face to face with those less fortunate than I, and I let them down.
So, I changed.
Now I have homeless care packages in my car, and I give them out on the streets as I drive by. Now I have a sponsor child in Ethiopia, because if I couldn’t feed them then I certainly can take care of him. Now I give my time out to community each day, because I choose to make a difference here and now. The Race taught me the fleeting nature of time, because you only have so long in each place before you have to move on. It is worth the heartbreak that follows when you leave. I could live my life doing what suits me, but then I wouldn’t be glorifying God. The other day I prayed that people would know me by my faith in Christ. That night a friend messaged me asking to talk, and we spent a half hour talking about how I worship God the way I do. Even now He and I are still close.
College students are so strange in worship. On the Race you expect people to stand, sit down, lie on the ground, dance in a field, do whatever the Spirit leads. College students are much more self conscious. They do not dance in fields unless their friends do it first. I still do sometimes, when no one is watching me for inspiration.
I’m wiser now, and less concerned with shallow interactions. Sharing my story around the world is a special thing with bits of joy and loss mixed in, and I won’t force anyone to listen. Most people really don’t care about such things, they just ask to be nice. I mean, you can’t really expect your “How was the Race?” to be satisfactorily summed up in my “Good”, right? Can you sum up nine months of your life with “Good”? Neither can I, but I do to those who are nice. I share my story with those who are curious.
Today is significant. It’s as exciting as any day on the Race (most of them were just every day life), except now I understand the culture and language perfectly. I’m investing in a community I’ll be living in for a few years yet, and I think that makes it all the more important. Sometimes I still watch the sunset and think of that small church surrounded by rice fields with the dogs on the table and chickens slowly disappearing. Other days my heart goes out to the starry sky that covers the children in Harbu Chulule, and I wonder if they rebelled against another VBS recently. Still other days I think about the volcanoes and mountains of Granada and La Montaña, and I miss the people who walked among them into my life. I miss it, so much, but that season is done.
Now I am here, right where I’m suppose to be. My ministry is great and time is fleeting, so you can usually find me brewing tea in Moyer 31. Come on over for a cup anytime, sit in the therapy chair and relax. We can chat about out lives and I’ll listen curiously. Welcome home, friend.
