To all the ones who loved me from afar for eleven months,
Today I write from yet another coffee shop that I have yet again run away to in hopes of successfully tricking myself into believing that I’m alone and that alone time does indeed exist in this crazy world. A year ago, I had just returned from World Race training camp and was in the final stages of preparing for all that happened the last 11 months. Today I am just dozens of hours from boarding a plane to the states and a couple of handfuls of days from landing back in the blessed PNW. A year ago, I had seemingly endless emotions about what this year might hold, and today it seems I have infinitely more about all that re-entry will be.
I look forward to so many things – squeezing all of you, my dearly loved ones, and sharing life face to face again, going for runs without haunting stares from strangers, showering without worrying about getting the toilet paper wet, laying on a couch (I legitimately have not done this in 320 days and it makes me want to cry), making my own coffee in whatever way I want and drinking it from ALL MY MUGS, drinking water from the tap, not saying goodbye to new friends every three weeks, PNW temperatures, hugging an evergreen tree, etc.
And for everything my heart so longs to enjoy so very soon, I have at least one apprehension. I worry about not remembering how to drive, being overwhelmed by what once was normal and has since become luxurious, that I’ve forgotten how to speak non-broken English, and navigating a transition without the fearless warriors I’ve been transitioning through this world with for the last year.
The list could go on, but two concerns reign above all: that who I’ve become will not fit the expectations of those I’m returning to and that I will be misunderstood.
My worldview has simply been exploded this year, expanding rapidly and exponentially, and with it my understanding of truth. What a beautiful gift that is! It has caused me to grow in beautiful and often painful ways and has forever changed me. My heart is both softer and stronger than ever; capable of feeling hurts and injustices more deeply and strong enough to feel them again and again, when becoming callous and constructing walls around my heart would be easier. I’ve learned to walk head-on into darkness more confidently because I’ve come to walk more assuredly in the victory that is already mine and yours. I have allowed Light and Truth into the places in my heart that I’d rather keep closed off and in doing so have seen that these are always more than enough. I have seen and grown to believe that these are more than enough for even the most difficult places I’ve ever seen. I have learned to give even more of myself when I am most broken because it brings life and because that’s when it’s the least about what I have to give. I have learned to both grieve and celebrate more fully, thereby learning to live most abundantly.
I am still McCrea Nirider, fierce lover of her kitty Reno, really very super good coffee, running for too long, and shadowy mountain views. I don’t, however, fit the space I left. My sharp, rough edges have become rounded and soft; many weak spots strengthened. It’s going to take grace – a lot of it from me for you and from you for me and from me for me – to figure out my new “fit.” Perhaps I’ll speak unexpectedly confidently or maybe in uncomfortable honesty; perhaps the cost of an American meal will throw me into a panic; maybe I’ll just really want to sleep on the floor or wear the same shirt 17 days in a row or I’ll keep throwing my toilet paper in the trash instead of the toilet. Whatever it may be, it might be awkward and it might make us both a little uncomfortable. By grace and grace alone I made it this far, and it will be loads of grace that will carry me through.
While my tummy fills with warm fuzzies and my heart with ardor at the thought of sharing my stories and receiving all of yours from these last months, I am simultaneously filled with something like nausea-inducing anxiety at thoughts of being misunderstood and misunderstanding. Just give me some swoopy bangs, a studded belt, and some Fall Out Boy in my headphones because when I think of this the angsty teen inside who never will die comes out. “But mom,” she shouts, “you just don’t understand!”
What if I only share the hard, heart-wrenching, tear-filled moments, forgetting to tell of the joyous wonders this year held? What if I go on and on about the like five actually glamorous days of the year or of the best adventure days, failing to give deserved attention to all the hard and holy things each nation offered? These eleven months gave far too much to be summed up in answering “how was it??” as I imagine so did the eleven months you lived.
“How was it?” you ask? Think of every adjective a year, an experience might be. It was that. All of it. It was the most bittersweet year of my short life thus far. What was bitter was almost unbearably so, causing me to wince and cringe and sometimes turn away in disgust, but what was sweet was oh, so sweet, leaving me utterly speechless and in awe of all the goodness around me and that it is but an imperfect reflection of the One who made it all. It was these extremes in contrast and together that made this year so very full. It was everything. Forgive me if I forget to express that. I promise if you give me time, the fullness of it all will unfold. If we don’t have time, let’s give each other specificity. Let’s share defining moments or poignant lessons learned or maybe even just a time we laughed so hard it hurt.
I have walked each day of this journey acutely aware that I would not have started it, nor made it through each day, without the fierce love you’ve shown me. The things I taught the nations are the truths you taught me by first seeking truth from the Father. The love I gave was the love you showed me how to give, after first receiving it from the Lord. As I return, know that my heart is to show you how deeply I cherish that and to meet you wherever you are after a year apart. But know, too, that it will be messy. Know that I’m overjoyed to be with you again, but know also that in the ways I often longed to be with you or in a familiar place, I will likely long for my new “familiar,” of nothing ever being familiar; for floor sitting and new food eating and stranger loving and getting on a bus every month to go somewhere far and new. Know I am the same and entirely different all at once, and that I’m prepared for you to be as well. Know that above all, I love you. I love you. I love you. I appreciate you. I cannot wait to see you.
With all my love, a lot of dirt in my pack, and some extra wormies in my tummy,
McCrea Grace
