I haven’t
written in a while. I wish there were a
better reason than the one I’m about to share, but the honest reason it’s taken
me so long to write another post is because I’ve just been unable to get my emotions
together enough to think clearly about all that is life. The last few weeks of life in Kankan flew
by. Between trying to finish up
interviews and term papers, finishing my work on the loom for the final show,
and saying the hardest good-byes in my entire life, I hardly had time to
process for myself what was going on and how I was dealing with it, much less
translate those experiences and emotions into English and find time to go to
internet and share them with you.
Then when I
came back, I crashed. I made it through the
three days of traveling, a 9 hour taxi drive, two hotels, and five different
airports, thanks to pure adrenaline.
Looking back, I really don’t know how we did it. Strange thing home is, though. If you’ve ever experienced reverse culture
shock, you know what I mean. The only
thing worse than being in a different culture and having no idea what’s going
on or what to do, is being in a culture where you should know what is going on
and what to do, and yet you still don’t feel like you belong. It’s rough.
Everyday things like making breakfast and taking a shower and walking
outside to get the mail seem like totally foreign activities, and going to the
grocery store or the mall? Forget
it. The first time I walked into Kroger
I had to stop and close my eyes, collect myself, before I could even walk past
the second set of doors. The horribly
bright lights, the sounds of carts and announcements on the loud speaker and
people talking in English, the absence of smells, no pungent fish or spices or
fruit or even garbage for that matter, and then there’s the sheer abundance of
everything. I mean none of this as
judgment, because it’s everyday life, it’s how we live here, and there really
isn’t an alternative, but the difference is still such a shock. I bought a bunch of bananas from the top of
the display case, and I didn’t ask the women who was selling them how she was
doing, and how was her family, and her home; didn’t need to ask the price
because it was listed on a sign in huge bold numbers, and I didn’t tell her
thank you, or good-bye, or see you tomorrow, as I would have back in Kankan,
because there was no one to have this conversation with. It’s such a simple thing, going to the store
to buy bananas, and it’s not that there’s one best way to do this, it’s just
different everywhere you go. You can
think you know that things will be different and strange, but emotions don’t
really work this way. You can know
things with your head, but your heart doesn’t always speak the language of
reason.
The three
months I lived in Kankan were three of the hardest months of my life, and yet
some days my heart longs for those dusty market streets and the sweet taste of
fresh coconut, shared with friends under the cool shade of one of the few trees
in the entire city. I miss the really
challenging conversations, miss struggling to communicate. And yet, I love being back. I love reconnecting with friends I haven’t
seen in way too long, love waking up late without anything to do; I love baking
with my mom in my pajamas and going to church again where God can be
“she.”
My mind
keeps telling me I can’t love both of these things, I can’t actually have
enjoyed life that was so hard and still love this life I came back to. Missing home means that’s where my heart is,
right? That’s where I’m supposed to
be? But can my heart really be in more
than one place? My brain keeps telling
me I have to find one place I belong, that only one can be the best for me. I have to make the right choice, because
there is only one right path, and I need to find that (and hopefully sooner
rather than later). And if I like one, I
can’t like the other, right? Or I should
at least have to like one more than the other.
But my heart is telling me something totally different. I love more than one place. I loved cooking in the back of the restaurant
in Kankan with my host sisters, and laughing together as they taught me how to
dance right. I love baking pumpkin
muffins with my mom, both of us in our pajamas, sometimes talking, sometimes
not, just enjoying being close to one another.
I love going to breakfast after church with my new friends in Wooster,
and spending late Wednesday nights baking way more banana bread than we’ll ever
eat. I love walking across that familiar
field at night, looking up at those stars, the only things there that never
change, remembering all the times I’ve held God herself in my lap as I rocked
her to sleep, or waited for lunch, or just been there for comfort. In all my travels, my comings and goings,
I’ve been searching for that one
singular place, path, passion, but what I’ve found is that my passion, my love,
multiplies with every place I go.
I think what
it is, my passion, my love, it’s where I find God. And God, she doesn’t choose one place over
the other. She IS. Allah ye ya.
Dieu est partout. God is
everywhere. What do you want to be when
you grow up? What do you want to do with
your major? Where do you see yourself in
5 years? I want to be in love with God. I want to use my major to learn how to live
with conviction and questions and laughter.
And in 5 years, I don’t care where I’ll be because wherever I’ll be,
I’ll be with God.
It’d be
foolish to say I’m always aware of her, but she’s here, whether I realize it or
not. My acknowledgment of her presence,
of her intimacy and care, doesn’t change her love. So instead of pretending I don’t deserve it,
or trying to run away from it, or making myself too busy to be able to slow
down and realize it, I need to change my response. So I’m trying to slow down a
little, stop all the frantic searching, and begin to notice God where I am,
wherever I am. Many times, it’s the
little things that have a way of reminding me, the mundane become extraordinary
because God, she has a way of changing even the simplest things into moments of
love and grace and thanks. This morning,
it was the familiar sight of steam rising from the coffee in my mason jar as I
sat outside under the trees working on my journals; and the voice of a friend,
honest and from the heart, “I’m really glad you’re here with me right now.” It was a beautiful sunset, the sun huge
falling low in the sky, partially hidden behind a few clouds yet its radiance only
enhanced by these shadows that tried to hide it. Sometimes these little things slip right
past, but with each glimpse of God, I become more aware of her presence right
here, right now. Because wherever I am,
I am with God.
