It’s taken me a long time to get here. I kept sitting down to write and then I’d end up just looking at a blank page for 5 minutes trying to figure out where to begin before giving up. Even while I was still in Togo, I had a few opportunities to update but when I thought about writing, I just got tired. I asked myself a few times what the point of this place even is anymore. I realized that I don’t know who reads it, and more than that, I don’t really care who reads it. Which is when I also realized that it’s not really for anyone else. This is where I process the best way I know how.
It started because my sister practically begged me to do it, and it’s like she somehow knew how important it’d be for me this year. It’s like she knew I’d need the accountability of it. Even though only one person might be reading this, or none, I have that conviction to tell what’s actually going on inside my head because I’ve already written here in plain print that I want to be real and honest. And as far as I know, there’s a possibility that even one person is counting on me to do that. I don’t want to be made out to be a liar. In a way, it’s like I’m holding myself accountable. It’s like I’m reading back on all my aspirations and dreams for myself and not wanting to be a disappointment. I can read back over all the things I’ve learned this past year and be reminded constantly of the Lord’s work in me, and how it’s a process that He’s still carrying out.
It wasn’t just here that I couldn’t face yet. It was the letters to my supporters to tell them how the trip went, and the stories to my friends who all want to know what “Africa is like.” I never know where to start, what’s important to tell. I want to tell everything until they feel it; I want to show them. I want them to see the streets, and hear the rain, and hold those little hands so they can experience Jesus just like I did this summer. I want to give them a piece of my heart so they can understand how the Lord revealed Himself to me in Togo. But all I have is words, and I’ve never been so dissatisfied with that.
I’ve felt so outside of everything since I’ve been back, which was expected. They warned us about this, and I braced myself. But it’s still strange. It’s not like my first year of college wasn’t unfamiliar enough; it’s not like coming “home” to a place that’s not quite home anymore isn’t weird enough. It’s not like I didn’t feel somewhat outside of what used to be comfortable to me when I came back from school already. Throw into the equation that I immediately left for Togo and it’s almost like I really don’t belong. I spent the beginning of my summer in a different continent, in a different culture, in a different world. Six weeks seemed so short when we were living there; it was never enough time to do everything we wanted to do. But now, six weeks has proved to be much longer than I’d hoped for. It was plenty of time to change me to the core. It was plenty of time to move us all further into the future. I feel like so much changed while I was gone.
And sometimes I just want to go back to that slow circular time, where things just came as they did. Little went the way we wanted and when something finally worked out, it wasn’t on our time. And we waited, because we had to. There was just so much beauty in patience and having to rely on being led. I feel like I’m scrambling to keep up with the fast demanding pace of this American world.
I don’t know if I’m being bold in saying that I’m not who I was when I left that day for Kansas City almost 2 months ago. But I pray that I am. BOLD.
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