I’ve been shying away from blogging as I’ve spent the last 2 months jetting around the U.S. and back to Uganda. On the one hand, my time in the States doesn’t seem “blog worthy” as I’m not advocating for dying children or finding myself in mud-filled adventures. On the other hand, the transition between two cultures, neither of which seem entirely comfortable, can be adventure enough.
Straddling two cultures, embracing a state of “homelessness”—after two and a half years, I may have thought it’d become “old hat”, nothing to ruffle the feathers. The general expectations of re-entry are slightly more predictable but they take a different form every time.
This time it included shock at how good everyone smells in America, sweet moments savored with friends and family, amazement at how clean everything is—including the streets, joy-filled tastebuds as I savored seafood, salads, and Dr. Pepper for the first time in a year. It included a few jolts as I attempted to drive an automatic car with two feet and experienced a moment of defeat due to the number of chapstick brands available in a Wal-mart aisle.
There are always a few surprises. As I attended Urbana with WHM, I felt a creeping cynicism entering in. So many starry-eyed students with big plans and high expectations surrounded me. I was one of them recently but the past few years have brought unexpected pain, suffering, sacrifice. Questions nagged me as they heard I was a “real missionary” and they wanted to know more. How to encourage them to join in God’s calling while still counting the cost? How to balance sharing the joys and sufferings that come with this life? How to be real without scaring them off?
My time in the U.S. included making plans for the future, experiencing gut-wrenching anxiety for a few days, followed by peace and a clear path to pursue. (I won’t leave you hanging forever about that one—but it’s a whole separate post) There was great rest and naps, just because I could. There were moments for reflection and remembering what had happened in the past 12 months. And of course, there were good-byes. But they were made slightly easier with the promise “I’ll see you in June”.
Over 24 hours of recycled air, moving through the maze of cordoned off security areas, sitting on the tarmac for five hours as they de-iced the plane…and I was home. Home to driving on the left side of the road, home to the warmth and humidity, home to familiar surroundings and advertisements for things I actually recognize. Home to a bed where I can sleep off the jet lag :)
