for two weeks I've been home and I still haven't written my final update.
two weeks of catching up on sleep.
two weeks of patiently waiting for my intestines to stop doing the "hate the USA" dance.
two weeks of editing pictures in awe of what I saw.
two weeks of staring at pieces of notebook paper and writing nothing.
Being a girl who normally thrives on busyness and activity, I've been strangely reclusive and quiet of late. I find myself sitting around and just being...leaving voice mails (which I usually listen to at the first avaliable moment) for hours and even days without listening to them. I'm so happy to be home. Glad to see familiar faces and hear the stories of what life was while I was gone. Glad to get back to a hot shower and water pressure. Glad to hand out trinkets and souvineirs from my trip, telling stories of the strange places I found them.
But something in me is certainly not yet settled. The culture shock has been more subtle than I expected but it's definitely there. So much of everything around me seems foreign and in little ways it wears me down. Driving for the first week was very strange, and I found myself subconciously driving 10 or 15 miles under the speed limit across large stretches of highway. All the rooms are sealed from the outdoors completely...no wind blowing in under the eaves, no sound of trees and ocean coming into my bedroom. The food comes in packages and the fruit doesn't fall off of the trees. My phone keeps ringing and I can't seem to really TALK to anyone...not because they aren't listening but just because I can't seem to put a full sentance together and still have it mean anything.
I've had happy reunions with many good friends over the last few days, and the smiles and hugs and questions are all welcome and warm...but I'm still learning how to respond and trying to push myself to engage the fellowship to be had around me.
My heart is still there.
Looking back on the trip there's no way, really, to appraise its value. No way to sum up in a few words what it did for me. No way to truly know what it did for others. I want to be able to say that what we did there had real value...lasting meaning...an impact that will have eternal consequences. But I don't know.
All told we saw 2,003 patients. Who knows how many prescriptions we wrote or how many hours we spent in the matatu. When we ran out of medicines, many of us gave away all the advil and tums that we had brought along for ourselves. We left clothing, gifts, and e-mails there. We brought gifts and pictures and some body weight back. But none of that means anything. It's just numbers and calculations.
As feelings of insufficiency and questions of value creep in around me I wonder if I somehow missed my purpose there. I feel in some ways like I never really got to KNOW my roommate...like I didn't ask all the right questions and didn't give the right kind of support. I feel like I should have been able to give more to the patients. More time...more love...more hope. I feel like I should have been able to give more than band-aids and hugs. I feel like I spent so much time analyzing God that at some times I may have missed his presence there.
And I have to keep reminding myself that all of the frustration that I feel--for the work "undone" and the surface only faintly scratched--is really because of a greater feeling that something DID happen there. It wasn't just a trip...it wasn't just a life experience...it wasn't just a chance to learn a new language and hang out with people who have darker skin. Something was working there under the surface. Something that I thought I understood but really had never fully seen. And while we were there, somewhere along the line, I saw deep in the ocean a small part of a shadow...a vast, dark, beautiful shadow moving through the water. And the glimpse was enough to convince me that I might never be able to view even the shadow in full. It was scary and depressing and awe inspiring and joyous all at once. And through the days as I caught little hints of the shadow here and there I began to believe in it more and more.
There were days that I could not explain the joy that I felt. There were days that my fatigue seemed to be the only thing to occupy my mind. There were days that my heart was so broken for the people we turned away at the door that I almost resented the people who had made it to the doctors. So much of my trip was learning that my heart is not aware of where the shadow is going...how or why it moves...how it guides me. And while the logistics and specifics of this trip could not have run more smoothly, the mental and emotional side of it was messy and unpredictable. Nothing about the way that my heart was stirred or my mind was confused could have been expained to me beforehand. Even now, I can't quite explain it to myself.
My team leader, Leanne, who has become something of a hero to me, was careful to show us a key scipture during our last few days on site. It comes from Paul's final letter to the Corinthians.
"Because we understand our fearful responsibility to the Lord, we work hard to persuade others...for Christ's love compells us. Since we believe that Christ died for all we also believe that we have died to our old life. He died of everyone so that those who receive his new life will no longer live for themselves. Instead, they will live for Christ, who died and was raised for them...theis means that anyone who beliongs to Christ has become a new person. The Old life is gone, and a new life has begun! And all of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ. And God has given us this task of reconciling people to Him. For God was in Chist, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people's sins against them. And He gave US this wonderful message of reconciliation. So we are Christ's ambassadors."
(II Corinthians 5)
Our leader was careful to emphasize that the success or excitement or fulfillment of a medical mission is not about how much we love people or about how much we love God, but about how much God loves us. About how He sent His son into the world so that we could be taken over by his love and beomce the face of His fogiveness to the world. what and incredible privillege and what a great mystery...that a soft thing like love could control and compell us--causing me to finally become significant. But first I must be dead...completely willing to be controlled...a living sacrifice.
As we shared communion in the pitch dark out on the beach, Leanne brought us a loaf of bread and some shot glasses full of apple juice. "This is Christ's Body...broken for YOU for the forgiveness of sins" ...for the sharing of the message of reconciliation. For the giving of the joy of freedom. For the invitation to a life on an altar. For the preparing of a place in heaven. For the experience of a compelled life on earth.
Oh God, forgive me for my pride as I headed into my trip expecting and praying to change and impact people as a result of my great love for them and for Him. There is NOTHING that my love can do for others. But oh...to be compelled. To be a part of that message. To be swept away by the beauty of the story so often that my life has to follow. That is a life worth living...worth sharing...worth dying for every day.
My heart aches and my eyes fill up again as a piece of the shadow once again becomes visible. I will no longer ask for miracles, or ask to see how my life fits into the greater scene. I'll only ask to keep seeing glimpses of His love...and to keep seeing my value in the way that he compells me to love. I pray that somehow I will keep this mystery fresh every day...keep seeking out that great love that gave up everything for me.
In the next few days I'll put some pictures up and perhaps post a copy of the presentation I'm giving to my church. Until then please pray for clarity and peace as I continue to re-adjust to life here. Thank you all for your unending prayers and support.
May the God of love compell you...
