They say “home is where the heart is,” and what I’m realizing now, 36 hours away from landing back in the United States, is that my “home” isn’t really just there. If home is where the heart is, my home is in Minnesota, yes, and undoubtedly in the mountains of Wyoming—but also my home is in the foothills of the Himalayas on a beautiful lakeshore, and on a hot, top floor tiled room in Cambodia. My home is a cement house in dusty Swaziland with kids throwing rocks on the roof, and with my sweet Chilean family in the driest desert on earth.
I have called probably two dozen places “home” this year, but now, after 324 days, I’m coming back to the one I’ve missed the most. The one I’ve longed for, and cried for, and daydreamed of for so long. It’s finally time.
First, you need to know that I am really, really excited. I did it! 11 months overseas, across 11 different countries on 3 continents. I am looking forward to so many things—seeing all of my dear & sweet friends and family, having dogs that are allowed indoors & on my bed, flavored coffee creamer, a washer & dryer, sleeping by myself, watching bad TV, driving my car, getting back on a horse, etc.
Still, I am scared. I am overwhelmed at the thought of it all, even now. I worry that people and places have forgotten about me, or that they don’t really care that I’ll be back soon. I’m nervous about living my life without the strong community that has surrounded me over the past year. I’m scared you’ll get annoyed with me when every sentence I say starts with “one time in Botswana…” and I’m scared you’ll think I’m pretentious when I accidentally kiss you on the cheek and say “Ciao,” when really that has just become my normal.
“Home” is not going to feel the same to me, because neither it or I are the same as when I bid it goodbye 11 months ago. Life has moved on without me, as have all of you—our lives have kept moving and changing. That is a gift. As I transition back to my life in the United States, I want to give you a few ideas of what I might need (though really, I have no clue of anything I’ll need besides grace.) So…
Give Me Grace In Transition. Maybe I’ll want to sleep in a pile of my fluffiest blankets and pillows, or maybe I’ll pull out my smelly sleeping bag and travel pillow because they’re what’s most comfortable to me these days. Maybe I’ll throw out 90% of my clothes because I’ve learned I can live in three outfits, or maybe I’ll peruse all the new stores in the mall for hours and even buy a couple things. Maybe I’ll want to eat at all my old favorite expensive places, or maybe I’ll want to try that Indian hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Maybe I’ll spend an hour doing my hair and makeup. Maybe I’ll ask to try out the Spanish-speaking church in town.
The point is, I don’t know what I’m going to want or need when I return to the States. It will likely change day-to-day. Please, give me grace as I adjust. Songs and smells and God knows what else may remind me of something, and stories might start tumbling out of my mouth or I might start to cry from sweet memories. I know you won’t understand, but a simple, gentle, “what is it you need right now?” is the best way to love me.
Ask Me About It. Please, please, please. Ask me questions. I need to know that you care (only if you really do.) I need to talk about it and I just don’t know how. I need to know that you recognize that what I just returned from changed my life and molded parts of my soul. Please don’t let fear or discomfort or “not knowing what to say” get in the way of showing me you’re still in my corner.
Please do NOT ask me, “How was it?!” or “How was your trip?!” (That is, unless you want to see me implode.) You see, this wasn’t a trip—it was my life. And there’s no possible way to sum “it” up in just a sentence or two. PLEASE avoid questions that are vague and broad.
Ask specific questions! Ask me about a specific topic in a specific region or country—things like, “what was your favorite ministry you worked with?” “What were your living conditions like in South Africa?” “Who’s somebody special you met in Asia?” Chances are if you ask me something specific, I’ll go off on a tangent and you’ll learn far more than you would from asking me about my “trip.”
Please also understand that regardless of your question, it might feel overwhelming to me and I won’t be ready or able to find the right words. Other times, I might start talking and not be able to stop. I ask for your patience. I want you to know everything, in time.
Tell Me About You, Too. I have missed so much this year. I have missed babies being born, weddings, family reunions, and vacations. I have missed you. Tell me about your life, your family, and your job, and don’t preface it with things like “sorry if this is all boring to you now…” I promise you, it’s not. I have craved the aspects of life that you deem mundane. Tell me about weird new trends and the celebrity gossip that you find fascinating. It might be overwhelming to me at times, but I promise you I want to know it all.
Hang Out With Me. I want to see you. I want you to remind me that you haven’t forgotten about me. I haven’t spent much (any) time alone in the last year, so I might feel like a little puppy wanting to follow you everywhere. I’m up for anything—if there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s spontaneity and adaptability.
At the same time, understand that I’m still an introvert and might need extra time relishing my new-found aloneness. There will be days I just want to hang out with my dog, my journal, or some tall trees. Again, grace.
Offer To Buy. That feels weird to say, but let me just get real with you for a second. I DO want to get coffee with you to tell you everything I’ve seen and learned. I DO want to get a beer with you at the newest brewery in town. I DO want to go with you to eat all my favorite things again. However, I’ve been without an income for over a year now, so please understand if I have to turn you down and suggest something else. If you called me up and said, “Hey, want to grab Chipotle? My treat!” I might actually cry tears of joy.
Know that I am not the same Samantha that got on a plane 11 months ago. I am still the same Samantha that loves every animal she’s ever met, watches The Bachelor on Monday nights, and cheers fiercely for college hockey. However, I don’t fit the same mold I did before. We might have to re-learn each other a little bit, and that’s okay. I have only grown more fully into who I was created to be.
11 months later, I believe I walk with more confidence and boldness. I believe I am a better friend and a better leader. I have learned what it means to love God and listen to His still, small voice. I have developed even more of an appreciation for adventure and spontaneity, but also a deeper appreciation for steadiness. I am more comfortable in unknown situations and am more assured that I can succeed in just about anything you ask of me. I understand my identity more than I ever have before and my heart has grown to look a little bit more like Jesus’. Thank God for that. I hope you see these changes in me. I hope you tell me about the changes and growth you do see—that would mean the world.
I’m going to try hard too. I know that my re-entry won’t be easy for many of you either. I will extend grace to you when you don’t say or do the “right thing.” I will try to be present. I will work to let you in on my heart and how I’m feeling. I will fail sometimes, but I’m doing my best.
If there’s one thing I’ve realized as I prepare to return to so many once familiar faces and things, it’s that I couldn’t have done any of this without you. So many of you have sacrificed your time, finances, and sanity to keep me out here, and I am eternally grateful. Your letters, messages, pictures, and constant words of encouragement are what anchored me on the days I wanted to jump ship. Thank you for being my biggest fans.
I can’t wait to give you a big hug and enjoy time with you, so very soon.
All my love,
Samantha.
