And This Is How It Goes...

It’s like this every time.  It’s no different no matter how many times I repeat the process.  Uprooting myself from American comfort and flying halfway across the planet always, always, always feels hard.

Maybe this would surprise some of you.  It’s still hard for you after all this time?  Really?    Yes, it really is.  Despite several people’s assumptions that I have some sort of uncanny ability to be completely unaffected by jarring, drastic change, this is not actually the case.  I certainly am able to adjust more quickly than I used to, but leaving home never comes without a wide range of emotions.  I am a missionary, not a robot.  I feel many things.  Unfortunately, bravery is not usually one of them.  I still get scared and nervous when I don’t know what to expect or when I leave familiar things behind.  The details are never fully sorted out when I travel to a developing country, and more often than not, I don’t really know what I am getting myself into.  Somehow, things always works out, but that has nothing to do with me or anything within my control.  It’s like God repeatedly tells me to jump off a cliff and then catches me in a net every time.  Even though the safe landings give me more confidence the next time I jump, they don’t remove the frightening feeling of falling. 

They don’t make the leaving process easier either.  I am always a little baffled when people seem to think that simply because I am called to Uganda means that giving up my American life to live there must be a piece of cake.  No sweat.  If God called you to go to Africa, it must be super easy for you to turn your back on your life in America.  God called you, so you must love every second in Africa.  It must be no sacrifice for a person like you.  Ummmm, I don’t even know where to start with these kinds of comments.  Here’s the deal.  I love Uganda.  I love the work I get to be a part of there.  I love that God has privileged me by calling me to partner with Him in this beautiful nation.  BUT I love my life, friends, church, family, and culture in America too.  To pretend that leaving my home doesn’t affect me at all is utter fakeness.  Again, I’m a missionary, not a robot.  I have feelings.  I get sad.  I get scared.  I get hurt.  I miss people.  I miss comforts.  I cry. 

Every time I prepare to leave America, it hurts.  There is an ache in my heart that mourns the loss of my home country.  Knowing my physical comforts are about to disappear is hard.  Knowing my emotional comforts of familiar friends, family, and culture is harder.  I dread those moments when I will do that last load of laundry in a machine, take that last hot shower, eat that last American meal - I never want those comforts to end.

Before I travel to Africa, I always feel a weight on my chest that is a physical reminder of the sacrifice ahead.  I know the price I am about to pay - sleepless nights with mosquitoes eating me alive, bucket showers, hours of washing clothes by hand, bumpy roads, and cramped vehicles.  I know exactly what I’m getting into.  Of course, there are beautiful, wonderful adventures ahead as well.  And yes, the good always outweighs the bad.  However, there is still a sacrifice to reach those beautiful, wonderful adventures.  Going to Africa means transitioning from a world that gives me warm fuzzies to a jarring world that makes me come alive.  Coming alive is good, but it’s not painless.  No woman would tell you giving birth didn’t hurt despite the joy of seeing her new child come to life.  Africa is like new life for me - beautiful and exciting - but it comes with birthing pains.

And so this is how it goes.  Every time.

The night before I leave for Africa, it’s always hard to sleep.  My mind is racing with thoughts.  I know the trip will be long and exhausting.  Flying there alone just might be the worst part. 

Whenever I arrive at the airport, I dread that initial moment of aloneness.  I usually go to the airport with my dad, and after I hug him goodbye, I know what awaits - a walk from his car to the airline desk - alone.  That is my first moment of being by myself and always the hardest.  I usually look back once and then stop myself from looking back again, because it’s too hard.  I check in and walk to my gate, feeling anxious and overwhelmed.  I just want the long flights to be over.  Even though I fly WAY more than most people, flying still freaks me out every time.  Flying at lightning speed in a little tube through the sky never seems like a good idea to me, but I know it’s the only way to get to Africa unless I want to be on a ship for months.  So I say a little prayer, board the plane, and hope for the best.

I usually can’t sleep during my first flight.  My mind is racing, and I can’t keep up with the many wild thoughts.  I already feel a million miles from home.  The accents surrounding me on the plane (usually European) make me feel like I’ve been away from America for a long time.  It hits me that I’ve really left.

After I land somewhere in Europe for a stopover, the exhaustion hits.  I always wish I’d slept during the previous seven hours on the plane, but unfortunately it’s never been possible.  I get my bearings straight and find my gate.  Honestly, it sounds weird, but I can usually smell my gate before I see it.  Uganda.  Pure Uganda.  I’m telling you; you could blindfold me and tell me to find the gate headed to Entebbe in any airport.  I would find it.

So at my gate, I wait and wait some more.  Now this waiting feels like an eternity, because I’m doing everything in my power to not collapse on the floor, fall asleep, and miss my flight.  That would cause some problems that I really want to avoid.

At long last, they announce my flight, and I can’t wait to start boarding.  Even though I’m always scared to board my first flight, my fear of flying somehow disappears before the second flight.  I’m too exhausted to think about anything except conking out on the next plane.  I finally fall asleep, and this leg of the journey goes by quickly.  A nap and a movie later, the plane has already begun its descent into Uganda.

And then we land.  This is when everything changes.  The SECOND I get off of the plane, I am overwhelmed with joy.  Grinning from ear to ear.  Scared, anxious, exhausted missionary me is gone.  As soon as I hit the ground, a switch flips inside of me, and I am suddenly elated and energized.   It’s weird how happy I feel.  Maybe I’m too sleep deprived to remember feeling homesick or afraid.  I’m not sure.  I walk to the customs line, almost skipping happily.  I end up last in line without fail.  Every.  Single.  Time.  But I don’t care.  We all have to wait for our baggage afterwards anyway.  I finally get to a visa window, and it takes about twenty seconds to get stamped in with my handy dandy visa.  I feel like a local.  I belong here.

And that’s how it works.  That’s how it goes.  I leave America scared, I travel exhausted, and I arrive in Africa elated.  Even though I dread such a long trip to Uganda every time I leave the States, I always end up feeling thankful for the journey afterwards.  I see purpose and benefit in traveling for many hours.  The time in the sky allows a needed transition to take place along the way.  Having time to get over my fear, becoming exhausted enough to change my perspective, and feeling the excitement of hitting the ground - it shifts me from a place of uncertainty to a place of confidence.

So why do I share this?  I’m not entirely sure.  Perhaps just to be real...to let you into my genuine thoughts and fears...to debunk the myth that only people who are courageous or adventurous or wild are called to the mission field...to share my journey with you because I can.  And I suppose, I share because I want to let you know that you can also do things even if you’re afraid or uncertain or overwhelmed.  It’s crazy to me when people tell me I’m brave and even crazier when they tell me they could never live a life like mine.  God uses the weak to shame the wise; He can use anyone.  It’s not about having courage.  I am not a fearless person.  Far from it.  I don’t find it easy to leave home.  I don’t know what the heck I’m doing.  But I DO know that God is good, that God has called me to Uganda, and that God is strong where I am weak.  He is brave where I am scared.  He is steadfast where I am uncertain.  

He is strong and brave and steadfast for you too.  And so we trust in Him.  We agree to go on an adventure with Him.  We admit our fears, we deal with our exhaustion, and we find our excitement.  And this is how it goes...