A week goes by. I finally get up the courage to unload, to settle in, to unpack.
This is crazy, I think to myself. Right now I’m in America, in my home, in my room. But a week ago (or more now) I was in the stinkin’ Patagonia mountains with people who were my family for a year of my life. And then a week before that, I was in this little church in San Rafael aka wine country of Argentina, in a little Latino church, jumping around, having a dance party, singing “hay libertad en la casa de Dios” and “te doy la gloria, gloria, hey! hey!” with the people who fill the atmosphere when they worship. Gosh, I loved going to that church. They have energy, passion, excitement to worship Him. They do it out of a pure heart, there is no faking it here. In all the 11 months, I don’t think I’ve ever been apart of worship so electric and so authentic as in this little church. I think just being present in that church while they do their thing, could heal anyone’s soul. But we didn’t just sit there, we joined in right alongside of them. And in my mind I could keep going with the “and a week before that I was in…” I was in a cute coffee shop in Chile. I was in a hospital visiting my friends in Bolivia. I was in a village in Nicaragua; I was sleeping within the Honduran heat. I could keep doing that all the way to El Salvador, to Georgia before we launched.
My first Sunday back home, I went to church by myself. I sat by myself. It’s funny because there was never a day I did anything by myself all year, and I never went to church alone. Sometimes, the freedom of finally being able to do things on our own, to be those independent women, to not have a rule of going in groups of 2, looked appealing to us all, but in that moment, I looked around at a huge church, looking at unfamiliar faces, shaking hands and smiling, I wondered where my people were. Probably at church with their families and friends. We stand mostly still while worshipping. We don’t dance like we did in Argentina, or Honduras, or just about any of the countries I just went to. We sing in English. I understand every word the Pastor shares. I don’t greet anyone with a kiss on the cheek.
I sit and watch broadcasted television. Something I also haven’t done all year. I enjoy TV, but the commercials are what get me. The advertisements are trying so hard to get us to buy in, and to see that we need whatever the thing is they are selling. Our lives would be better, easier, if we buy this thing. This activity or chore could be faster. If you buy this thing, you could be prettier. So maybe later we do go out and buy one of those things, because the commercial said it works, right? We fill our big homes with things to make our lives better, faster. Our homes grow so big and our stuff fills it so much, but yet why don’t we have anymore time? I’m spending all this time buying the thing and finding a place to put it. We are a time-starved nation; always in a rush. To get to the next thing, and then the next and the next.
A week at home goes by. I finally decide it’s time to unpack and organize my life. I’m putting tons of clothes away. I open a drawer, I sqeal with excitement, “my workout clothes!” I run my fingers across them. I turn around to grab something to put in the drawer and the thought crosses my mind, “why do I have workout clothes?” It’s just funny and ironic to me. I didn’t have workout clothes this year; it didn’t fit in my backpack. I just wore whatever t-shirt I wore the day before and then maybe I would wash it later. A hard maybe. Don’t get me wrong, I sure do love my Nike shirts though.
Under the mound of all the things- my tent, souvenirs, foreign money, I find my knitted llama sweater. I pick it up. I smell it. I haven’t washed it yet in the last 5 months since I bought it because it’s hand-wash only, and I just didn’t commit to that type of time my last few months. It smells great to me. I hold it to my chest. Just thinking of all the memories this little thing holds. I miss the world where I used to wear this. Now I have a closet full of sweaters and with all those options, who knows how often this will be worn.
I find a pink v-neck t-shirt. Immediately, I think of my friend and her kind family in Nicaragua who gave it to me. Sweet Maria. I think the first time I saw her, she made sure to invite us over for her birthday later in the month. We went over and spent time with the family a few times. We always rode in the back of the truck with her, her college-aged daughter, and her younger grandson. I loved talking to her daughter, Ibania. As we were leaving her house one day, Maria and her daughter stop me for a second, and they give me a t-shirt. The pink v-neck I now hold in my hands. I’m not sure why, but she just wanted to give this to me. This sweet little family. The family, who each time I see them, are wearing basically one of a few outfits they have. I return the favor. I go to a store and I buy a shirt for Ibania, now admittedly ashamed that I was too stingy to give her one of my very own because I liked mine too much. It was blue, and I think she liked it. On our very last day in the village after we said goodbye to this family, her grandson, Bryan, runs, searching the whole village to find me. He says, “my family has something for you so you must come back to my house now.” I’m already honored, and I follow him back. These two women bring out a pair of sandals. For me. Earlier that day, I made conversation with them and was telling them the funny story of how my beloved rainbows broke in the middle of the market and how I bought the closest pair of new things I could find. Maria laughed. And then promptly asked my what size I am. I thought she was just curious. But she just wanted to see if her shoes would fit me. So now I’m here, back at their house and they want to give me their sandals. And then sweet Maria brings out another pair of shoes, ones that I saw her wear all the time. She gives them both to me. This sweet family who shares a one bedroom house, I’m not sure if there’s electricity, gives me these gifts. It’s our last day here, so with a touched heart and tear-filled eyes, I joke with them how now I won’t be able to return the favor to them, like I did last time with the t-shirt.
I finally get out of the house today, after not having anything to do, or places to go for the past few. I mean, there are things I should do, but I don’t know why, I just don’t. I wrote an email to someone, talking about my year, and what I learned. To give her a frame of reference for where I’m at in life, I write this: In January, I embarked on an 11 month mission trip- it was a thrilling, challenging, wild adventure I went on with a backpack. I came out of it with a community of believers who are family and a few bottles of Argentinian wine taking up my pack’s weight. I’ve been home a week, trying to re-adjust to this american life, without giving up or forgetting all the things I learned, and stories I heard. My hometown is lonely; I haven’t lived here much these past 5 years. I’m trying to fight the loneliness away that can come with being 23 and returning from the mission field, and not knowing what’s next for me. I want to form a life here, or somewhere. To have friends, to laugh in the middle of a store aisle with someone, to have people to go to the movies with, or to have people over for dinner parties. But I don’t have any of those yet.
I go to Starbucks to get one of those red cups, and I want to, in my still poor Spanish ordering ways, ask for a cup of coffee. “Puedo tener un…” Yeah, I never conquered a better way of saying that. I wanted to greet my family at Thanksgiving with a kiss on the cheek. I want to be 15 minutes late for anything because that’s just the latino way. I excitedly showed my sister via FaceTime the mate drinking ways, and fill her in on the etiquette. I even ask her if she wants a sip and put it up to the camera. When I accidently bump into people I think, “aye, perdon!”. I still throw my toilet paper in the wastecan.
It’s interesting. It seems like the superficial things have no problem sticking with me. I just hope the deeper, more important things do too.
It is a blessing to be home, to be in one place, to be at rest! I’m excited to catch up with people, and I’m even more excited to see what the Lord has next for me! Thanks for being with me on this journey! For the love, support, and prayers! Have a blessed season!
Meg
