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The Return

It had been a long seven hours on the plane. Two of them were spent on the runway at Charles de Gaulle waiting for the snow storm to pass and the plane to be de-iced. We spent a not-so-silent duration of the flight listening to rowdy French soldiers in front of us and a Nigerian business man and American evangelist and pilot behind us. The plane was brand new and had I been on a flight from LA to New York, I would have been pleasantly surprised at the up-to-date movie selection and fancy new LED overhead reading lights. But in fact, the French in front, the accented English behind me, and the now black as night Sahara whizzing by below us, reminded me that I was on a journey back to the middle of nowhere. When the fancy new cabin lights dimmed to dark it kind of freaked me out, and I thought that the LED lights actually cast a rather creepy glow over the foreign faces. The French Camembert didn’t taste quite so pleasant this time, and in our haste to make it to the airport in time, I had neglected to pack something in my purse to occupy my time. So, instead, I had plenty of time to sit and ponder our decision to return. As the pilot announced our imminent landing, my heart started to pound and thoughts of “you idiot, what were you thinking?” started to race through my head. Small lights, signs of some sort of civilization in this vast wilderness, started to appear on the horizon, and all around, you could hear the conversations fade, and all eyes were glued to the windows. It’s always a sobering experience landing in that place. At that moment, the majority of the passengers who are there, having committed to a several month term in Chad, are beginning to let their fear seep out. As the wheels touched the ground, I began to cry. I don’t really know why…partly out of fear of the thing that had just begun, and partly the feeling of utter isolation and loneliness that can only be understood by those who have made this trip. The only thing you can see as you look out the windows is blackness…But I realized also that a part of me was crying because I realized that we had finally made it. Come what may after this moment, but God had finished that battle. We had actually landed in Chad.
The next three hours were a whirlwind of feelings and experiences and recollections. After riding the 300 feet from the plane to the “airport”, we waited in line to have our passports checked and our yellow fever card stamped by a tall man in a dirty white lab coat. I’ve heard that if you can’t find your certificate of vaccination that you will be given one at that time, and a shuddered at the thought that it would be given by this man. We collected our bags and were waved through customs on account of our speaking Arabic instead of French. We were then met by the throngs of people waiting outside the metal gates -- for whom, I don’t know, since we were the last flight in of the evening and the last people off the plane. It seems, as we passed through the revolving doors into Chad that we passed through a time machine – not to a different year, but to a previous era of our lives. Instead of feeling like returning, it felt like rejoining our life where in left off. Writing now, six days after arriving in country, I still have this sense, that when we left Chad last year, time stopped, we carried out our travels and business in America and when we went through those doors, it started moving again. And it’s not because everything is the same. Quite the contrary. The two paved roads in the capital have multiplied to be innumerable. There are street lights on every paved road – so many that one gets the sense that you are at some sort of theme park where there must be enough light for business to carry on like normal. There are new statues in all the round points (roundabouts), the dry fountains now have water flowing out of them (even when there is none in the wells), and there are even things like, well, Christmas lights. That is using the term loosely. They look neither like Christmas, nor do they come in shapes or forms commonly found during this season. But they are indeed colored lights on strands that are up during Christmas, so we will call them Christmas lights. There are also multiple multi-story buildings being erected throughout the city, a new stadium being built and the biggest surprise: ”Tchad Nadif” which means “Clean Chad” and is the name of the city’s new municipal sanitation department. There are actual trash trucks that make rounds every week to pick up trash cans from various locations, mainly the wealthy houses, since the other are still burning theirs. There are also Chadian women in traditional dress with fluorescent orange vests with “Tchad Nadif” embroidered on their backs that are sent out to sweep the streets. It is an interesting juxtaposition of old and new and the great ideas and the ridiculous. I’m not sure sweeping the streets of dust is going to actually make anything sanitary. Dust is the least of their problems…but I suppose you have to start somewhere.

Going Back

So I guess we might be going back to Chad soon. It doesn't really seem real yet, and I guess that's because so many times in the last year and a half our efforts for so many things have been thwarted. I guess the only time you really know that something is really going to happen is when it has happened. There is probably some very wise philosopher that discovered this truth before me, but you can cite me for now!

When we first had a glimmer of hope of us going back in the beginning of September, my reaction was real excitement. As we learned more and more that it might become a reality, I continued to be excited, yet cautious. Now, possibly a month to six weeks out from a departure date back to Chad, I find myself in an odd state of confusion. I think it is the reality setting in, and the fear of the unknown. Despite our desire to return and serve in Chad, in the midst of all of our trials while we've been home, there is something comforting in the stability of living in the US. Of course, not knowing what the future holds is always unsettling, there is still something about waking up to the same sunrise everymorning (okay, 2 hours after sunrise), the same people on the Today Show, the same grocery store, knowing what to say when the waiter asks for your order, knowing what to wear to each social event, that is very safe and reassuring. But over the last few weeks, when I'm waiting on hold, or waiting for my name to be called at the doctor, my mind drifts off to memories of Chad...of the things that are unfamiliar, of deciding that it's okay to find bugs in your food, and to sitting in the dark from six o'clock on, to being hot almost all of the time, to not being understood and not understanding, to feeling alone and feeling forgotten, to feeling a longing for the familiar. And I wonder to myself...can I still do that? I think about the first night we arrive in Chad, and I think how we won't have any food in the house we stay in that night...it's okay, I think, we'll just eat out until we get our feet on the ground...No. Can't do that. Okay, well, I'll just grab something from the store that we can eat...No. Can't do that. Oh geesh! I forgot, just eating is a major task!

They're relatively small fears right now that stay in my mind. The ones about us dying or needing a doctor are the ones that are more dramatic and scary, but they are also the ones that are less likely and could really happen wherever we were. It's the day to day living, the struggle to provide for my family as I go through each day, and to find purpose in my life as a live in a society that is not my own, that really makes me stop and think: Can I still do this? It was only four and a half years ago that we first left for the field, but I have aged a lot since then, and I think, that was something for my youth, but now, I don't know if I'm really cut out for that sort of living! I know that I will adapt, and the beginning is always the hardest. I feel like we've jumped out of the plane and can see the ground approaching, but I'm quite scared of the landing.

I had great aspirations for this life of "mine", and sometimes, when I think of returning to Chad, I feel like it is throwing those aspirations out the window. The dream of a family, the dream of the "American dream", a house, a yard, a social life, a "real" job. I guess it's what we're supposed to do, lay down our life to serve God. But I didn't really think it would look like this. I don't know what I thought it would look like. The more that I realize that life here on earth isn't the main point, the more lost I feel. I believe that Heaven will be wonderful and that we'll all be infinitely happier living there than here (that wouldn't be hard), but the unknown is never that enticing. So instead I hold on to little bits of hopes and aspirations for my earthly life, and feel quite sad when they slip from my fingers. Since I've been living in America, I've been able to hold on to those strings a little tighter (a restaurant in my future, a baby, a normal life), but I think now, going back, is when I've realized that those things aren't what my life is about, and am grieving a little bit.

I didn't expect to feel this way about returning. I'm so glad to have my best friend and partner in ministry leading us back. I couldn't do it without him. And I rejoice in the fact that although probably no other person, no matter how close to us, will ever really know what our life is like, we can understand and empathize with each other. So unless God redirects our tiny little sails, we'll hop back into our little boat, just the two of us, and get back to rowing. The journey is long, but I beg our Maker to make it all worth it.