After a three day, 60 hour travel marathon, I’m back! One of the engines on the plane I was in failed somewhere over Botswana, so we had to fly back to Johannesburg, make an emergency landing complete with rescue crews on the runway, and spend an extra night there. That led to a much later flight and an extra night in New York. Despite a crazy circumstance God provided in amazing ways during the journey. I happened to be on the same flight with a World Race friend, I got bulk head seats the whole way (yeah extra leg room) and I was given priority clearance through all the security lines.
Last night I spent some time journaling, trying to make sense of the transition between two distinct worlds. I debated sharing this, but it’s an important part of the journey…
Today it’s hard to be back. I got overwhelmed getting dressed. I stood in my closet frustrated by all the choices. It’s hard to reconcile the opulence of my life here with where I’ve been for the last month. Sadly, it hurts worse than seeing the pain in Swaziland. It hurts because it holds a mirror up to my flaws, which I’ve done everything to cover up. This is the hard part, where Africa shines a light on me. As I looked at the mound of lifeless clothing I was disgusted at my self for every discount shopping trip I justified, every outfit that I thought would magically make me look a certain way, all so I could fit in with an ideal that I don’t even know if I agree with.
Africa strips me down. Everything I’ve built up to hide behind is gone. Picking it back up fits wrong. Today, 
watching shows, eating good food, wearing the clothing that I thought I missed, none of it satisfied. The more I let go, the more I realize one truth, Jesus is it. He’s all that satisfies. So how do I stop my self from going back to those things?
I’m in limbo between two worlds, instead of processing it, I’ve been avoiding. To avoid in this world is too easy. Way too easy. I once had a vision of doing missions this way (going between two cultures) as standing up on a river with each foot in a different canoe. It’s not exactly easy. Today instead of confidently standing, I hunkered down in the US canoe clinging to the seats for dear life. Not exactly a George Washington confidently crossing the Delaware moment.
The truth is, as difficult as the questions are, I’m grateful for them. This culture loves anything that numbs the pain. I love anything that numbs the pain. But numb is no way to live. The life and death situations in Swaziland remind me again that I’m one of the lucky ones, I’m alive. I only get one shot at this life and I want to use it.
So where is the hope? That’s what I’ve been asking my self today. Where is the hope for me? For Swaziland? For the Church?
Sometimes playing with words helps me to process, so in response to my own questions, last night I wrote the following…
The stars dimly glimmer. Their intrinsic radiance faded. My eyes strain, wanting to see more, frustrated by the second rate luminescence. City lights obstruct their innate brightness.
We have conquered the dark, but what’s the price?
Just a few weeks ago I was on my back, the winter cold seeping through my jacket, looking at a sky ablaze with distant suns. The milky white galaxy spread across the firmament like an overly excited child had splatter painted with the medium of light. A vivid black sky created a perfect contrast for each glowing pinprick of white. Nothing existed to numb the moment. No distant lights obscured the stars glory.
A shooting star arcs just above my roofline, guiding my mind back. The disappearing messenger a moving reminder that the promises God gave me in Africa are just as real here. In this world the distractions are greater and the false light is more persistent, but despite what I see from this perspective, the stars have not lost their brightness.
