I can’t lie and say that this isn’t hard.
I can’t pretend that I’m over the culture shock and sunburns and the expectations that I don’t understand.
I know that time is short, but oftentimes, this season of life feels like forever. I have so much trouble seeing the beauty in spite of all of this pain. I wish that I never had to see eyes replete with hopelessness again, or another mother holding her child without joy, or children with too-small shoes or no shoes at all. I wish that I could sleep it all away, click my heels and return to a world that makes sense. It’s like I’ve fallen into Wonderland, only things aren’t half as bright as I had dared to imagine. There is suffering and sickness and death, souls full of spite and broken things. And, yes, those things exist in America, but I almost miss the veneer that made them seem like background noise, irrelevant and easily pushed aside. I miss pretending like everything is okay.
Isn’t that terrible? All my life, I have longed to see things clearly. I have desired cold, hard truth. And now that I’ve got it, I want to lock it away and face it on a day when I feel more equipped to handle it. I want to stuff it into some dark corner of my mind like a cardboard box and conveniently neglect to unpack it. Let it collect all the dust and the spiderwebs, decay until it is nothing more than a speck in the back of my consciousness, a harmless iota, forgotten.
But I can’t run from this. Even if I could escape to America for a little while, Africa would still be here. Have you ever heard this question: “If a tree falls in a forest without anyone to hear it, would it make a sound”? I think that the answer is unequivocally “yes.” Even without an outsider to observe its suffering, Africa would go on. Whether or not its pain is heard, there would still be people suffering from HIV, little feet with yellowed toenails, and hunger. Life marches on relentlessly whether or not we are paying attention.
So, what do I do with these things? God has been showing me that the burden of Malawi is not mine to carry, that I couldn’t bear it even if I tried. He has shown me that I’m not failing even though it is becoming harder and harder to stay present, to be all in this all the time. He is teaching me that I have to accept that I may never understand what goes on here. And He is showing me how to rely on His strength instead of my own, because God knows that I can’t get through this alone. He has given me my team, and I don’t know what I would do without them. They are some of the kindest, most genuine people that I have ever met. And He has given me prayer warriors back in America. I will definitely need their help to survive this last month of Africa.
I’m sorry that my blogs have been few and far between. Life has been a lot to handle and I haven’t had the desire to see my thoughts on paper because they’re loud and saddening enough in my head. I know that God has a lot more for me on this journey, and that’s what keeps me going.
Thank you all so much for your support.
Love,
Jordan
