During the last two weeks, I took my first trip on an airplane, studied my Bible overlooking the Meditation Sea, stood in an empty tomb, worshiped holding a Ugandan child, and preached in a Muslim village, among other things. Saying that this trip changed my life is much like saying that a Monet painting is beautiful: it’s true, yet terribly unfair. And to be honest, part of the reason I haven’t blogged about it yet is that I’m still trying to sort what all the experiences mean and convert my emotions into something halfway coherent. Bear with me, here.
What I can tell you is that I’m thoroughly exhausted - physically and emotionally. I thought that having jet lag meant that your internal clock was out of sync with the world around you. For me, it has mostly meant that I’ve wanted to sleep regardless of the time of day or night. I’m also exhausted from a transition back to Western civilization. Home doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. Everything is tinged with unfamiliarity – my own bed, the food I’m eating, the highway that I’ve been driving almost daily for four years seem wrong, like its colors have shifted ever so slightly while I was gone. Yet, it all makes me think of Uganda. Listening to music makes me think of the drums that I heard across the distance during the day. Hearing the frogs makes me think of the frogs and mosquitoes I listened to through the windows at night. And I miss that place and the people I met already. In fact, as much as I’m happy to see my family and friends in the United States, I also started missing Uganda before I left it.
Oddly, a week in Uganda was long enough to make me awkward with United States’ social rules. As a woman in Uganda you can walk up to anyone’s child and take his or her hand. You can play with or talk to anybody’s child. I still find myself wanting to act similarly here. I just almost took the hand of a child in the Portland Airport before I remembered that the mom might murder me for doing so. Similarly, I still find myself wanting to hug and shake hands with everybody I meet, wanting to put my hands on the shoulders of the people I’m talking to. In Israel touch is more common than in the United States and in Uganda it is an integral part of communication. I thought that all of the closeness would make me really uncomfortable, since here the violation of my personal space frightens me. But actually I learned to love it and to feel safe with it and because of it. It was satisfying and comforting in a way that I can’t explain.
Is it overstepping the bounds of blog propriety to admit that I’m having trouble with this transition? I’m having trouble feeling that I belong in the United States.
God did make a change in me that I pray I don’t transition out of, though. While I was gone, he helped me to want Him. While I was in Uganda, the schedule was very lax and I had plenty of time to sit outside, stare across the valley, and pray and study his word. And while I was doing that, he sparked in me a craving for his presence and his voice like I haven’t felt in a long time. He reminded me what it is to sit in his presence without an agenda of things to accomplish within a particular time. He reminded me what it is to appreciate the moment with him that He had given me.
The big stories will come later, I assure you. But for now, it has been on my heart just to share with you where I am right now.
God Bless.
What I can tell you is that I’m thoroughly exhausted - physically and emotionally. I thought that having jet lag meant that your internal clock was out of sync with the world around you. For me, it has mostly meant that I’ve wanted to sleep regardless of the time of day or night. I’m also exhausted from a transition back to Western civilization. Home doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. Everything is tinged with unfamiliarity – my own bed, the food I’m eating, the highway that I’ve been driving almost daily for four years seem wrong, like its colors have shifted ever so slightly while I was gone. Yet, it all makes me think of Uganda. Listening to music makes me think of the drums that I heard across the distance during the day. Hearing the frogs makes me think of the frogs and mosquitoes I listened to through the windows at night. And I miss that place and the people I met already. In fact, as much as I’m happy to see my family and friends in the United States, I also started missing Uganda before I left it.
Oddly, a week in Uganda was long enough to make me awkward with United States’ social rules. As a woman in Uganda you can walk up to anyone’s child and take his or her hand. You can play with or talk to anybody’s child. I still find myself wanting to act similarly here. I just almost took the hand of a child in the Portland Airport before I remembered that the mom might murder me for doing so. Similarly, I still find myself wanting to hug and shake hands with everybody I meet, wanting to put my hands on the shoulders of the people I’m talking to. In Israel touch is more common than in the United States and in Uganda it is an integral part of communication. I thought that all of the closeness would make me really uncomfortable, since here the violation of my personal space frightens me. But actually I learned to love it and to feel safe with it and because of it. It was satisfying and comforting in a way that I can’t explain.
Is it overstepping the bounds of blog propriety to admit that I’m having trouble with this transition? I’m having trouble feeling that I belong in the United States.
God did make a change in me that I pray I don’t transition out of, though. While I was gone, he helped me to want Him. While I was in Uganda, the schedule was very lax and I had plenty of time to sit outside, stare across the valley, and pray and study his word. And while I was doing that, he sparked in me a craving for his presence and his voice like I haven’t felt in a long time. He reminded me what it is to sit in his presence without an agenda of things to accomplish within a particular time. He reminded me what it is to appreciate the moment with him that He had given me.
The big stories will come later, I assure you. But for now, it has been on my heart just to share with you where I am right now.
God Bless.