For those of you who have been
following my blog, you’ve probably noticed that there’s a huge gap between my
last post in June and this current one.
Normally I love to write, but for some reason, I’ve been at a loss for
words ever since I moved back from Uganda.
It’s strange, because I usually articulate whatever I’m feeling best through
writing; but unfortunately, I haven’t genuinely been able to identify what it
is that I’m feeling lately. It’s hard to
describe something in eloquent language when I have no idea what I’m actually trying
to describe.
Despite this frustrating mental
and emotional block, I finally decided that I’ve got to start somewhere. So here goes…
I guess I’ll begin by saying this. Sometimes we think we know what we want, and
then when we get it, we find out it’s the opposite of what we’d hoped for. When I was still living in Uganda, one of the
things I longed for most was the ability to do things without being
noticed. I constantly drew unwanted
attention simply because I looked different than everyone else. My exterior attracted curious strangers to
me, and it often took extra time to get simple things done because of so many people
approaching me. Some days I would think
to myself, “If only I could go to the
market without anyone noticing I’m different, life would be so
wonderful.”
But today, as I walked into a
large store to go grocery shopping, I had a revelation. I got exactly what I wanted….and it doesn’t
feel right. Why? Because now I appear to fit in, but that couldn’t
be further from the truth. With long
hair and skin freckled from the sun, no one questions that I could be from
California. Nobody looks at me and
assumes I’m an outsider. I fit the
role. I look “normal.” And that’s precisely what bothers me. I appear to belong, but in my heart, I
don’t. My heart and mind are filled with
memories and homes and villages and cultures and faraway lands that no one here
can understand. I dream about different
countries at night and have to remember where I am when I wake up. My Facebook newsfeed is in at least four
different languages. I randomly sing
worship songs in Ateso and Luganda in my car when no one can hear me. And it still feels more normal to fetch water
at the borehole with my village buddies than to drive to a job in California
every day. Even though I look the same
as others, I feel so different than
them. My grid for normal was shattered a
long time ago. In Uganda, I thought I wanted
to look like everyone else. Now I have
what I asked for, and it feels like a façade.
Inside, I’m screaming, “I’m different!
Can’t you see?? Normal isn’t
normal anymore! My heart is forever
changed!” Yet, on the outside, strangers
see a typical American woman and pass me by without notice. Being unknown doesn’t feel as good as I
imagined.
Thankfully, people who actually do know me are very aware of the fact that I'm kind of a weirdo. They know that I’ve
always been someone who marches to the beat of her own drum. But many still do not realize how much my
time in Uganda affects me on a daily basis or how much I miss life
overseas. Those who have not spent time
with me on the mission field cannot fully understand how truly chaotic the
cadence of my life was during the past few years. I’m convinced that the longer you get used to
such an unconventional lifestyle, the harder it is to fit back into a
traditional one. The ebbs and flows of
missionary life certainly shook me at times but weirdly made sense to me. I found purpose in the trials and beauty in
the unexpected adventures. I miss that
life of whimsy and sudden surprises. It
wasn’t easy; don’t get me wrong. But it
was FULL. I’ve been back in California
for five months now, and sadly, I can probably count on one hand how many moments
I’ve had where I’ve felt I was able to do something truly meaningful for someone else.
Nowadays, I spend most of my time battling California traffic to and
from work, working two jobs to just barely stay afloat financially, and
squeezing time in with friends every now and again. So much of my life is self-focused; I’m in
survival mode to pay my bills and get things done.
I understand on a cognitive level
that I can’t expect every day here to produce the same feeling as traveling to
remote villages to share the gospel, praying for people with AIDs, or
implementing sustainable projects for elderly widows. In terms of feeling satisfied and purposeful
in my work, the bar was set pretty darn high in Africa. In my head, I understand that working as a
personal trainer with affluent people in Orange County can’t produce those same
dramatic feelings of satisfaction. But
in my heart, I long to experience that satisfaction once again. I long to actually do something to transform
another human being’s life. I long to
take risks to love other people the way Jesus did. I am ruined for this normal life, this
monotonous routine of working and paying bills and impacting people on only the
tiniest, most subtle levels. I’ve seen
the other side, and I’m not content with this.
There’s more, so much more.
I want to experience “the more”
in America, and I believe it’s possible.
However, I have no idea how to get there. When the majority of my time is spent at a
job where I’m not supposed to discuss religion or politics or anything
controversial, I wonder…how do people find deep meaning in these surface level
relationships? If anyone has figured it
out, let me know. I’m all ears. Seriously, I am.
Fortunately, I’m pretty sure I’m
not the only person with doubts or questions.
I was listening to Davy Flowers’ version of “Do You Know The Way You
Move Me?” today, and the words really resonated with me:
“I thought I’d be a little further along by
now; I thought I’d be more mature, have more to say, feel deeper things…but it’s
very, very, very weak to me…but do you see?
Father, do you hear me?”
Sometimes, I feel like I should
be further along. I should have this all
figured out way better than I
do. If I could be a missionary in
Africa, I should be able to be a missionary in my own country, right? If I could make a difference among people
with such large cultural and language barriers, how much more should I be
making an impact where I can easily and openly communicate with others? Why is this so difficult? Why is there so much emptiness in the
mundane? I feel like I’m working and
working and working all the time but not really getting anything done. Will it always feel that way?
This dissatisfaction with the
ordinary invites deep, penetrating questions that are hard to wrestle. It makes “normal” life kind of
painful. It makes me scream, “I don’t
fit in here!” from the depths of my soul even though my exterior suggests otherwise. Yet, despite the pain such dissatisfaction
brings, I’m not sure I want it to go away.
I wonder if perhaps this tension can be a good thing. A few weeks ago, a client of mine mentioned
that she didn’t like to see poor people when she was on vacation. I foolishly assumed that it bothered her
because she was distracted by the poverty and ended up feeling compelled to
help out rather than to simply rest.
However, as she continued talking, I realized she just didn’t want to
see poor people – period. She didn’t
want to have to look at their dirtiness or poverty or acknowledge their
existence. If feeling satisfied with
life here means working a 9-5 and saving up for vacations where I can pretend
poor people don’t exist, then I don’t want to feel satisfied. I’d rather feel this constant,
heart-wrenching pull between opposite worlds than feel settled but view the
world the way that woman does.
Please don’t get me wrong
here. I’m not trying to judge anyone who
makes good money or works a conventional job in America or goes on vacation. (In fact, I would totally take a vacation right now
if I could!) We all have different
callings and spheres of influence. I
have friends who feel deeply called to share God’s love in Hollywood. I know people who hang out with celebrities,
do photo shoots for models, sing on the radio, etc., and they are lights in
some of the darkest places in this nation.
They are bringing God’s love to a group of people who are physically
rich but spiritually starving. I’m not
saying we cannot be impactful or useful in America. What I’m saying is that I often think about
the ministry I’m wired for and wonder
if God’s calling for my life will ever allow me to feel fully settled in the U.S. Is that wanderlust meant to keep me from
getting too established? Is that
compassion for the poor meant to keep me dissatisfied with building my own
riches and watching others do the same?
Is that burning heart for Africa meant to compel me to do something
powerful and unconventional? I hope
so. Otherwise, I guess I’m just crazy.
I wish I had a beautiful,
succinct way to wrap up my scattered thoughts, but I’m still wrestling through
them. I don’t have it all figured out
yet; I don’t know the answers to the many questions bouncing around my mind. Fortunately, God does. I really don’t know how people walk through
the uncertainties of life without the assurance that someone far greater than
us does know what’s going on. Even though I don’t really feel settled in my
current circumstances or environment, I know that I am eternally settled in the
unchanging love of the Father.
And perhaps what’s even more
comforting to me is the fact that God sees who I really am. I’m reassured by the fact that He is not
fooled by my skinny jeans and ankle boots.
He sees far beneath the illusion that I fit in here and is deeply aware
of every battle I am facing.
He understands my wild heart and my discontentment with normality. He sees me frantically stirring about day in
and day out; and I can picture him looking over me, smiling like a loving
father and saying, “Oh my restless daughter, just wait. Just wait.
You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” And
maybe that’s all I need right now – the simple assurance that He sees my mess,
my confusion, and my frustration. As I
search for meaning in the midst of the mundane, I know He loves me the same in
the adventure and in the monotony.
So, as I continue to struggle for
the right words to say, I suppose I’ll finish up with the words of someone far greater
than myself:
“Lord,
you have examined me
and
know all about me.
You
know when I sit down and when I get up.
You
know my thoughts before I think them.
You
know where I go and where I lie down.
You
know everything I do.
Lord,
even before I say a word,
you
already know it.
You
are all around me—in front and in back—
and
have put your hand on me.
Your
knowledge is amazing to me;
it
is more than I can understand.
Where
can I go to get away from your Spirit?
Where
can I run from you?
If
I go up to the heavens, you are there.
If
I lie down in the grave, you are there.
If
I rise with the sun in the east
and
settle in the west beyond the sea,
even
there you would guide me.
With
your right hand you would hold me.
I
could say, “The darkness will hide me.
Let
the light around me turn into night.”
But
even the darkness is not dark to you.
The
night is as light as the day;
darkness
and light are the same to you.
You
made my whole being;
you
formed me in my mother’s body.
I
praise you because you made me in an amazing and wonderful way.
What
you have done is wonderful.
I
know this very well.”
Psalm 139: 1-14, NCV
