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.