I've been meaning to write this for a while now, but honestly, I don't know how. So here it goes.
I leave here in 24 days. Less than a month.
I am an emotional casserole.
I'm shocked and still in denial. How has two years gone by so quickly?
I'm nervous. Living two years in an Asian culture will change you and your expectations. Broken English has become my language. And you mean polka dot shirts don't go with striped skirts? And it's okay to hug guys? Drivers actually look before they pull out into traffic? And KFC doesn't run out of chicken?
I am ready. It's been two years since I've seen family and friends, who wouldn't be pumped?
I'm excited. There will be variety in my life again! Italian food, Chinese, Mexican, American… And it won't be 90 degrees for forever! The leaves will change color… and snow!
I'm eager to start another chapter. My call has always been to follow Him - wherever, whenever - and as hard as it may be to leave, I'm excited for the possibilities. Who knows? Perhaps he'll just lead me back here…
And I'm broken. I hate goodbyes, and first I'm preparing to say goodbye to those whom I've been working and toiling with the past year and a half… They have offered much laughter, encouragement, support, advice, direction, and a family. I have been adopted as a sister, an aunt, and a daughter. They have cared for me through tropical fever, cried with me, spoken hard truths, and in all things, pointed me towards the One who is worthy. To leave them is truly to leave family.
And then how do you say goodbye to people you love but may
never see again in this life?
Even more so... to those you may never see
again… ever?
I'm afraid. I fear complacency. I fear forgetting what has happened here. I fear losing sight of the greatness of our G-d and His power, His goodness, His faithfulness, His love.
I'm returning to the familiar, yet I am anything but the same.
I have done without air conditioning, hot water, a shower, or a proper flushing toilet for the past two years.
I have adapted to eating primarily with a spoon, using a fork only to push rice and other food onto the spoon. Or with just my hands.
I have lived side by side with chickens, goats, cows, and water buffalo.
I have lived in a place where 70 degrees is cold and showing your shoulders or knees is inappropriate.
I can count the number of men I have hugged in the past two years on one hand.
I have seen poverty. Entire families living in a one-room house with a kitchen out back, who bathe and wash their clothes in the river down the hill.
I have lived in a place where there is a mosque on every street corner.
I have listened to Arabic singing call people to pr-y five times a day.
I have witnessed cows and goats being slaughtered as sacrifices.
I have heard people declare the Son to be the Truth and yet decide to not follow because of what their family would do.
I have walked with someone through reading the Good Book for the first time and witnessed them discover the wonder and immeasurable power of the Son.
I have had my faith turned upside down. I have wavered. I have stumbled - no, not just stumbled: completely wiped out. Realized that there is absolutely nothing in me that gives me credit before G-d apart from the Son. Not even my faith. It's all Him. I have very weak faith, but I have very weak faith in a very great G-d.
And I have seen Him make bold the fearful, give hope to the hopeless, breathe life into dead souls.
All in all, I'm a mess. One big, broken, excited mess. I say all this… to ask for grace. I'm a mess now, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be even more of an excited, awkward, clumsy, broken mess when I get back. My heart has attached itself to another country, another culture, another people. I don't yet know how to work through that, and I don't know if that'll ever change, but if I've learned anything the past two years, it's that He's faithful and when I don't know how to do it, He does and can and will. So I ask for grace. I will learn how to adapt. I will grieve. It will just take time.
See you guys in a month.
