How do you begin to process 11 months of dramatic change, heart breaks, victories, trials, and people that have completely changed your life? It’s almost hard to imagine life other than this now. Things before the race just seem like distant memories, things that just feel like dreams, and in 28 days, I will be returning back to all of that. Pretty soon these experiences I’m living right now, this life that has become normal, will soon become distant memories as well. 28 days from now I will have my own room, my own bed, a place to store my clothes, more than 5 shirts, a bathroom that will ALWAYS be functional. I will always have access to hot water. A place to hang pictures, store belongings, and a place to be alone if I so please. I will have a deck to sit out on and overlook the night life of the wetland whenever I choose to. I will have a kitchen that is always stocked with food, a kitchen with an oven and microwave. More than one bathroom, in case one is being used. Couches to sit on, carpet to lay on without feeling dirty. A large TV to watch any show or movie I want to. A car that I can get in whenever I want to, wherever I want to go. I won’t have to wait on anyone, won’t have to worry about how to get somewhere. I can sit at home all day and not feel guilty about it. I won’t have to worry about someone showing up to my house without warning, telling me to go somewhere I was totally unprepared for. Not having to feel like I’m always in the way of other people, living in cramped quarters. If I want to be truly alone, I can.
But in 28 short days, I will also be missing out on living in a small dorm sized room with 5 other women. I will not have access to the beautiful community I have right now, simply by waking up and rolling over in my bed. I will not be making meals for 6 anymore, I will not be transitioning whole new worlds every month. I will not walk into a new place each month and be overtaken by the culture, people, and the fascination of it all. I will not pray for hot water and real toilets every month, I will not have to worry about never being understood or understanding a different language. I will not be getting on 30 hour bus rides anymore and not batting an eye over the fact that it’s that many hours on a bus. I will not eat the same thing every day for 3 meals a day (rice, eggs, onions, green peppers). I will not go days on end without showering. I will miss out on so many opportunities for different kinds of ministry. People will not just invite me into their churches to give a sermon, or sing a song (no matter how unprepared). We will not stand out in culture, people will not view us as some foreign creatures, celebrities. I will not be hiking 64 miles into the Amazonian jungle, swimming in rivers, or eating yucca for every meal.
I will not be truly understood when I go home. No matter how loving and understanding I know my friends and family will be, they will never fully understand. Here there are the people that truly get this, the ones that understand what it’s like to not have control over your bowels, and how normal it is to poop your pants. The one’s that know what it’s like to walk the streets in Asia and see the man-made idols, and have broken hearts over the fact that there are so many people who have never even heard of Jesus in this place. To understand that it’s perfectly normal to get into random vehicles and have no idea where you are really going or doing ever. The people that understand what it’s like to fight for each other, without condition. To love each other, to choose each other, even when it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. The one’s that get what it’s like to hold children with tattered clothes, hungry stomachs, but joyful spirits. The one’s that understand what it’s like to unexpectedly be expected to perform a skit/song/sermon on the spot. The people that get what it’s like to cry on a playground in the bush of Swaziland because you get hard news from home, you miss your family, and sometimes it’s just too much to bear. To understand the odd fascination of picking lice eggs out of your teammates hair for hours on end. The people that understand the difficulty of being in a place where no one can understand you. That laugh with you when you try to start break dancing in the middle of a random bus station because it’s 2 in the morning and you’re delirious from not getting enough sleep. The one’s that get the joy that comes from hot showers, clean rooms, and a beautiful quaint city. The people that understand what it’s like to not really attend an actual church service that you can understand in almost a year. Who understand the humor and also the pain of singing the same song in Spanish for over 45 minutes straight with off-beat claps and tone-deaf voices.
See, all of these things will soon become just distant memories. Isn’t it funny how we miss and want the things we currently don’t possess? It breaks my heart already because I’m in a place of being excited to be home, but also missing the experiences of the race already. More than anything though, the people that made these experiences so sweet. Who fought for you, and chose you day after day. To have people surrounding you 24/7 who push you to deeper intimacy, but will also laugh until you cry with. We will soon be separated by hundreds (some thousands) of miles away, connected by a sea of experiences, but more importantly, connected by our Heavenly Father. He who ordained us all in this place at this specific time. See, this isn’t the end of our time together, it’s not the end of our time of adventure and big things with the Lord. This is just the beginning. It will just look different, but the Lord knew that from the beginning, and he chose to bring us on this journey together still. This is me stepping out of a beautiful season soon, and stepping into a new one; just as significant and beautiful.
