Time is almost up. 7 days of ministry left. 1 bus ride. 1 debrief. 1 plane ride.
I find myself taking pictures of everything. I want to remember every moment of this year.
I want to remember Catherine’s facial expression when the chief of Malealea took a swig of her coveted Coke in the back of that rusty pickup truck.
I want to remember watching friends cry as their favorite journals full of photos from home were ruined in that monsoon.
I want to remember teaching the reproductive cycle to confused and unimpressed African teens.
I want to remember Catherine passing me pine needles that day in the outhouse and the bouquet of flowers she picked me after the traumatizing experience.
I want to remember the faces of compassion staring back at me as I sobbed in that Mpumalanga coffee shop when I found out Barbara died.
I want to remember lying in the grass with Stefany, gazingat the bright African night stars, contemplating life and the mysterious satellites.
I want to remember that breakdown in the shipping container on Lesvos when I realized I couldn’t save any of those people.
I want to remember the way my heart dropped the morning we found out 14 babies drowned on their way to our refugee camp.
I want to remember every ministry, every host, every friend, every orphan, every student, every sticky hug, every hair grab, every red dirt high 5, every laugh, and every tear.
I’m going to be sentimental for a couple of months. I’m going to stare off into space when I get a flashback only to realize I’ll never get that moment back again.
To live such an intense adventure for such a long period of time is both incredible and devastating.
It changes you. Some days I wonder if it’s healthy to live in this much turmoil and adaptation for this length of time. Congrats to everyone who made it through without burning out, checking out, or resenting any of their experiences.
“It’s an extreme spiritual pilgrimage,” my team leader says.
I feel like I spent 11 months free falling through the sky and the thought of landing on solid ground again is frightening.
We’ve operated together as a team of 7 and squad of 40 for so long that I don’t remember what community outside of that looks like.
For those I’m coming home to, I’m different than the Lindsay that left. I’m still passionately curious about random things, sometimes snort when I laugh, love the stray animals, and light up when I see a storm coming. I still don’t drink coffee and despise gossip, but love stories. I still have no tattoos- you’re welcome Dad ;).
But now I love love worship music. I can feel Gods presence in a room full of people now. I love finding His hidden messages in the Bible now. I speak a little bit of 10 languages now and my English is substantially worse.
I am clearer with my boundaries and care less about people pleasing. I live more simply and plan on keeping that. I see eternity differently. I see my role on earth and the meaning of life differently. So you might find that I don’t care about some things as much as I used to and I care about other things more.
I learned how important it is that I carry peace and positivity, from my time at the refugee camp.
In Greece, I had a couple of conversations that changed the way I now see marriage.
In Zimbabwe, I learned how to change my boundaries and expectations.
In Lesotho, I learned that sometimes it’s better to be healthy and distant to people you love than unhealthy and close.
I found love in South Africa.
I found direction and reassurance in Malaysia.
I found my voice in Thailand.
I found my calling to be an author in Cambodia.
I’m still learning more layers of my identity as a daughter in Christ.
I’m still learning how to identify what I’m feeling, process it more quickly, and express my needs. I’m learning how to accept the love of others and to truly trust.
I’m happy. I’m really really happy.
Life is wonderful. He does truly move us from glory to glory.
So I will be sad some days and wish I had my team. I’ll wish I had the adventure of never knowing what the next day holds. I’ll miss travel days.
I’m going through a stage where I’m more sensitive to loud noises, crowds, bright lights, and negativity.
I would have to feel 110% to go somewhere like Ala Moana or Walmart.
It’s going to be weird not having people constantly stare and ask where you’re from. It’s going to be weird to not have the attention of a celebrity, but it will be nice to blend in. It’s going to be strange to know where I’m going daily. Monotony is a fear I’m working through.
A lot of change is on the horizon. I’m not just coming out of my 11 homes, but I’m coming back to my old home.
America sounds like a lot right now. A lot of external noise, stimuli, choices, and distractions. America almost feels like an ex. I’m like “who are you? I don’t know you anymore.”
“Have you changed or were you always like this and I changed??”
Frankly, I’m not quite ready.
I wonder if the flight attendant will have to pry my clammy hands from the arm rest when we land in LAX in two weeks. I wonder if we’ll all look around at each other 20 min before the plane lands and start bawling, like an alumni Racer told me happened to his squad.
It’s okay though, time will pass and I’ll get used to America only long enough to move back to Africa a month later.
“You might think we’ll be in less danger when we come home, but that wouldn’t be true. We are in danger of becoming who we were before.” -Kathleen Forrest
That is my biggest concern about ending this season.
Not only do I not want to forget a single moment. My concern is that in being around old familiar faces, I’ll want to conform to how I used to be so they won’t be thrown off and I won’t have to explain myself.
So if I’m seeing you in the 3 weeks I’ll be home on O’ahu, first off this is going to be fun, you know it’s high time for some spontaneous fun; I’m stoked to hear about the updates in your lives and enjoy the waves with you!! Secondly, I’m going to need your grace for our new differences. I’ll be processing a lot and won’t have all the right things to say or anything to say sometimes. I might be easily overwhelmed, but know I love yall and have been picturing this reunion for some time.
I have immense gratitude for this year. The Lord completely blessed and transformed me. I feel like I found my worth, purpose, and the love that I see so many glazed over faces searching for. I am utterly humbled by everyone who helped me get this far. Who helped me get through this intense spiritual journey. Who supported me on this mission through money, time, wisdom, or prayer. Sincerely, thank you and I’m excited to catch up with you!
