Day 263
Thinking of “returning home,” confused me at first.
I adore my house and my community back in America. But for some reason, saying, “I’m coming home,” didn’t sit well with me.
I want to take this blog to share my thoughts about this transition, and how you can help me through it.
The word “home,” has changed drastically for me.
Because home is in America, yes of course!
It’s at Camp Araminta, dancing my heart out beside my campers. It’s on my roof with friends, playing guitar and laughing about nothing in particular. It’s playing box drum for worship at youth group. It’s in San Marco square, exploring little shops and parks with a cup of coffee in hand. It’s sitting on my brother David’s bedroom floor, watching him play video games.
But home is also here in Guatemala. Worshipping with the squad louder than the pounding rain on the tin roof our base. It’s sitting next to my old teammate Daniella, petting a cute dog in the coffee shop across the street from church in Antigua.
Home is in Nicaragua at parent vision trip, around a fireplace, leading parents in worship by drumming on a big water bottle. Home is walking carefully to my tent, using my flashlight to see where the glowing spiders were in the grass.
Home is in Nepal, on the top floor’s balcony. Looking at the laundry-lady next door hanging up my clothes. It’s coloring with oil pastels, listening to my team sing while they cook dinner. It’s crying in coffee shops with my friends, because ministry in the slums and in dance bars can take a toll on your heart.
Home is in India, sleeping under the stars on a roof top. Beside Makennah in her tent, occasionally waking up to shoo away the stray dogs who curl into the side of the tent for warmth. It’s annoying Anand and Babu, our translators, by screaming Taylor Swift at the top of our lungs every day on our way to preach at a new church.
Home is in Lesotho, walking to a dreamy river every morning for quiet time. Running farther and farther upstream each day, hopping over rocks and streams, and occasionally stopping to pet our host families dogs who refused to leave my side. It’s playing Nerts till my fingers are the only part of my body not freezing cold.
Home is in Swaziland, teaching preschoolers how to write the alphabet and jamming with them on the ukulele to Father Abraham, Jesus Loves Me, and occasionally You’ve Got A Friend In Me. It’s sitting on top of a shipping container, swapping stories with people I had only known for a couple weeks before hand. But knowing, somehow, that I was safe.
Home is no longer a place to me. It’s moments, it’s people. And most importantly, it’s wherever Jesus has me.
My family of 40 and I have developed a valuable gift.
We have found home in countless countries, airports, bus rides, adventures, ministries, conversations, and friendships. We are used to home growing and expanding, and we are good at creating home wherever we are.
I currently have seven days before my squad and I fly into America, and ten days until I fly into Florida. I’ve already had my last day of scheduled ministry, and I’ve already said goodbye to the lovely kids I’ve taught English to for the past few months.
You should know, that even though finding home everywhere is such an incredible opportunity, it also comes with a hard truth.
Not all of the Rachel you knew is coming back. Not the same, at least.
Parts of my heart and my home are tucked away amongst the nations, and amongst the people I’ve gotten to love and be loved by. Although my heart and my home will continue to grow and expand, I have been poured out all over the world.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m going to need time. I have to grieve all the goodbyes I’ve had to say for the past nine months. And shortly I’ll be leaving the 40 people that were strangers nine months ago. I’ll be leaving people from the two teams I’ve gotten to be apart of. These people have walked beside me through darkness that I didn’t know existed. They’ve pulled me out of lies that I didn’t know were blinding me. They’ve wrapped their arms around me and held me tight when the unspeakable happens. They took care of me when you weren’t able to.
The idea of leaving them feels like a hole growing inside my heart. When we split up, part of me, part of my home, goes with them.
I’m going to need your help to be filled back up again. I’ll need to be reminded of the home I have with you. I’ll need to be pursued. I’m used to never being alone (we literally are not allowed to be) and my love for intimate community is a huge part of me now. So please, invite me out. Let’s get coffee. Let’s go bowling. Let’s go explore a park. There will be many days where I need to have fun. There will also will be days where I’ll burst into tears for seemingly no reason, or something seems very off with me. Maybe then, ask to sit on the beach with me. Sit beside me while I cry on my roof. Please give me grace when my emotions flip like a switch, and please understand when I want to be alone. Because sometimes, the best way to be there for me will be to just pray for me and let me spend a few days with my dogs.
I’m going to need your patience. I’m unsure if I’ll seem super standoffish, or if I’ll seem clingy and talkative. Questions will help a lot. But please don’t ask how my “trip,” was, because in the same way you may not know how to respond to, “how was your past nine months?” I don’t know how to respond to such a broad question other than maybe an awkward, “good.” If you really want to know specifics, please ask specific questions. Give me grace when I ramble, or when I give a not-so-glorious answer.
I’ll need your prayers more than anything, because sticking close to Jesus during this time is so important in keeping all I’ve learned alive. I know that this transition will be a challenge. The thought of people arguing over Facebook, the thought of gossip and greed, the thought of strife towards money or material things…even the thought of strangers casually speaking English around me overwhelms me. I can’t unsee the poverty and brokenness I’ve seen. I can’t disregard how selfish some of my problems are compared to those who have next to nothing. I can’t un-feel the most grand joy that those people still possess. I can’t pretend like some trending topics in American culture don’t make me want to grab you all by the ear and sit you in a corner with these people till you feel your heart shift and know how grateful you should be. Because if you have a roof over your head, a phone in your pocket, and you know that you’re going to eat tomorrow, you are so blessed. Please help me remember this.
I’m not saying that your problems or struggles are insignificant. I’m not saying that at all. Of course you have painful situations and challenges facing you. I’m saying, I’m asking, for you to be aware. I’m letting you know America is going to be frustrating to me sometimes. I hope I can use my actions and my love to show things that are more powerful done than said. I hope I can use my words to remind you all how good God is. I hope I can inspire you to make your life your mission field. And I hope you all will keep me accountable.
My plan on return home is to continue living a missional lifestyle, to continue following Jesus, wherever He calls me and whatever He calls me to do next. I ask that you will respect this. God may be calling me to a degree and a 9 to 5 job. But He also may be calling me beyond that in this next season. I know wherever He is, I’ll find joy. So I’m excited and expectant for what He has next. Please be expectant with me, search for opportunities with me, and encourage me when I doubt my purpose. I plan on creating a new blog when I’m home to continue sharing how God’s moving in my life.
Finally, I am so excited to see you. I’m excited to hug you all tight and hear about things you may not think are significant. I want to hear about your new job, or your new neighbor. I want to hear about the memes and youth events I missed. I want to hear about what God has been teaching you. I want to know how I can serve you and pray for you. I want to let you know how grateful I am for you.
Because of your prayers and support, I’ve gotten to see God move in countless people and places. You have come alongside me every step of the way. You have loved me and encouraged me and checked in on me. You have been faithful to lift me up when I was feeling down, and I can’t wait for that day we enter heaven and see the lives God touched through us. I’m endlessly grateful. Yes, I am pretty scared to return, but thank you in advance for your open ears and open hearts.
The trip may be done for now, but I’m excited to continue this mission, and this race, alongside you.
I love you, friends.
We did it.
And I will see you soon.
As always, keep the faith.
