My dad purchased tickets to an August Phils/Braves game. The yearly family vacation to Massanutten, Virginia is set. Then, I found out the "big news" a few days ago. My flight back to the states has been booked. On July 27th at 2:45 pm, I should be stepping down onto American soil. That's 100 days from this day. Of course, I'll have to make it through customs before I can leave the Los Angeles airport. I've been wondering if they'll easily let me through once they've discovered that I've been touching livestock, have contracted malaria, and walked through murky, parasitic waters.
The family last weekend!
Goodness, I'm really going home.
My mind begins to wander and expound upon everything. I recall memories, possibilities. While journaling this afternoon, I couldn't help but write about it all. I wrote about the long evening walks I'll take with my mom down back roads with farmland in every direction. I wrote about tenting with my sister in the backyard. I can't wait to go grocery shopping and bask in the wonder of whole grain bread, pepper jack cheese, cherries, and Old Bay potato chips. I can hardly imagine what it will be like to drive. I wonder if I remember? Oh my, I'll have to drive stick, and do so on the "right" side of the road. I also jotted down how I simply can't wait to swim, chuck corn, make coffee, and wear jeans (I ditched mine after India). I can't wait to spend time at my Grandparent's house in Slower Lower. Waking up to pancakes and sausage, crabbing on the bay, setting off fireworks from the end of the pier…
It all sounds so lovely, so familiar. All of a sudden, sharing a room with ten other young ladies and living out of a backpack falls lower than my very own bed with clean sheets and enough space to organize my 10 shirts. Eating street food and finding cockroaches in the house pales in comparison to my mom's lasagna in a kitchen that has seen cleaning products in at least the past month. Speaking normal English and being able to attend a church service where I actually comprehend the meaning of the sermon sounds pretty nice.
But then my mind makes a drastic shift.
I'm really going home…
I can't contain how much I adore my family and the places I come from. I suppose it's pretty evident. Even with all of this said, I'm actually pretty scared to return.
I know that the newness will surely rub off. After a short while, I'll leave home and begin "real" life again, wherever that may be. Life will presumably become normal. I will wake up each day, go for a run, make a banana smoothie, go to work, fulfill daily tasks, and maybe hit up a small group. I will live for the weekends when I can only hope to hike, ski, or meet up with a friend at Panera. It is in the midst of all this that I will once again proceed with the task of figuring out the "next step." Right now, I crave this normalcy. But it scares me to think that I crave normalcy. There is nothing wrong with normal, right? And of course, I don't doubt that my life will always be an adventure. Under God, my family, and a few other important things, I live for adventure. I like to look at life as an adventure no matter where I am. And ultimately, life with the Holy Spirit consists of thrill, risk, and uncertainty all the while having great certainty in Him. He isn't normal, but He's "my" normal.
I don't want to lack adventure.
Stephanie May
I never went to a "real" 4-year university. Because of this, I have never lived in excessively close community. Heck, I've never even had a roommate. I can say that this trip has made up for my lack of past roommates. During these past eight months, I've never had my own room and I've only had my own bed 50 percent of the time. I haven't gone anywhere alone since I was in America. When I run down the street to grab a coke, there is someone with me. When I go to find the restroom in the mall, someone trails along. I haven't had a solo dinner in all these months, which is quite the change from my Colorado life. I remember sitting on a high bar stool, eating leftovers from my shift at CPK at 10:30 pm. I have learned the value of close community. These people are with me not only while I'm stuffing my face, but also when I cut my foot on a rock in the ocean or need to spill my guts about the suppressed thoughts in my brain. We eat together, pray together, worship together. We go to the bathroom together, whether that is in the mall, in the woods, or over a second-story balcony in Nepal.
I don't want to be lonely.
Stephanie May
Traveling, experiencing culture, living in community, and seeing the real issues of this world face-to-face have indeed grown me. I have grown in knowledge, communication, boldness, prayer, and in seeking His heart. Of course I know that I know that there is always space to grow. That is part of the beauty of grace and seeing His perfection being made known in our weaknesses. This journey of growth, it brings us closer to Him and makes His name great. I never want it to cease. It seems almost impossible to me that I will be able to grow at this rate while living in America. It's true that being in this element brings out things that I never would have expected to come to Light. But ultimately, it's up to me. Circumstances can't determine my relationship with the King. I must continue to seek Him in the secret place and dig deep into the Word. I have got to find a mountain top (or back deck) to shout praises to Him. I long to keep in constant communion with the Spirit.
I don't want to stop growing.
There you have it. All my fears (the main ones, anyway) are written out for all to read. I really don't want to go back…not yet, anyway…
It's turned to early morning. 99 more days out here…
Then, maybe I will be ready…
…ready to carry all of this over into my western life. Maybe then I will be ready to make the most of every opportunity in the U.S., find/create meaningful community, and live the adventure that is journeying with Him. I can't wait (in 99 days)! A few more, and I'll be spotting Hamels strike a playa out.
