I've been home from Africa for one month, one week and two days. I don't know how that happened. I don't know when I stopped being a victim of jet-lag and when I started becoming comfortable with getting water from a faucet or food from a grocery store that I can drive to. And I don't know when I started getting used to these new mountains.
The past month in my tiny town of Boone, NC has been crazy. I've cried a lot, laughed a lot, cried some more and learned so much about myself that I'm tired of thinking. But one thing that I've realized since I've been home is that being present and living vibrantly is imperative to being happy. Also, serving other people. In every moment that you have the opportunity, serve.
Earlier this week I was coming home from my women's group, thinking to myself that I didn't want to be in the United States anymore. I didn't want to be in South Sudan either because that was quite a thirsty time in my life and I wanted to be close to my family and be able to take showers and not wear skirts. I wanted it all. I wanted comfort, but I also wanted some type of clear purpose. In my heart I felt that neither Boone nor Wadupe could give me all of that.
It was really dark outside. I live on a poorly lit street, and as I was turning onto my road somebody yelled, "STOP!" I slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road only to see that there was a guy who had wiped out on his skate board in the middle of the road, afraid that I was going to run over him. His backpack and skateboard and phone were scattered everywhere. His elbow was bleeding really bad and it was filled with gravel. He was about to break into tears. I got out of my car and asked him what happened and if I could take him to the hospital. Then the poor guy got up and clutched his arm as a pool of blood started filling the palm of his hand.
"No," he responded. "But could you take me home?"
So we piled his skateboard, his backpack and his bleeding self into my gold minivan, also known as Chariot of Fire or Burns Mobile, and went on our way. He tried to make small talk in the car while simultaneously trying not to bleed everywhere or cry. I felt so bad for him. When we got to his house, he couldn't even open his door, or carry any stuff. He had to drop-kick his pride and let me do everything for him. So I walked him to his house and explained to his roommates what happened as he began the painful venture of washing his wounds.
And then I went home, shocked that I had nearly avoided killing someone and got a serious reality check. I still can't believe that just minutes before I was complaining about not knowing how to help people in the United States, not knowing what my place was here. I was lost in my own self-pity and mourning for times past when I felt needed. And just like that, skateboard man fell from the sky. He needed me to help him, but in reality I think he helped me the most. Geography doesn't define my purpose, or yours.
Serve people. In every opportunity you have. Love people well, even when you don't want to. Seek out the broken, the hopeless and the weary. And in those moments you will realize your own broken, weary and hopeless heart, and it will begin to heal.
The past month in my tiny town of Boone, NC has been crazy. I've cried a lot, laughed a lot, cried some more and learned so much about myself that I'm tired of thinking. But one thing that I've realized since I've been home is that being present and living vibrantly is imperative to being happy. Also, serving other people. In every moment that you have the opportunity, serve.
Earlier this week I was coming home from my women's group, thinking to myself that I didn't want to be in the United States anymore. I didn't want to be in South Sudan either because that was quite a thirsty time in my life and I wanted to be close to my family and be able to take showers and not wear skirts. I wanted it all. I wanted comfort, but I also wanted some type of clear purpose. In my heart I felt that neither Boone nor Wadupe could give me all of that.
It was really dark outside. I live on a poorly lit street, and as I was turning onto my road somebody yelled, "STOP!" I slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road only to see that there was a guy who had wiped out on his skate board in the middle of the road, afraid that I was going to run over him. His backpack and skateboard and phone were scattered everywhere. His elbow was bleeding really bad and it was filled with gravel. He was about to break into tears. I got out of my car and asked him what happened and if I could take him to the hospital. Then the poor guy got up and clutched his arm as a pool of blood started filling the palm of his hand.
"No," he responded. "But could you take me home?"
So we piled his skateboard, his backpack and his bleeding self into my gold minivan, also known as Chariot of Fire or Burns Mobile, and went on our way. He tried to make small talk in the car while simultaneously trying not to bleed everywhere or cry. I felt so bad for him. When we got to his house, he couldn't even open his door, or carry any stuff. He had to drop-kick his pride and let me do everything for him. So I walked him to his house and explained to his roommates what happened as he began the painful venture of washing his wounds.
And then I went home, shocked that I had nearly avoided killing someone and got a serious reality check. I still can't believe that just minutes before I was complaining about not knowing how to help people in the United States, not knowing what my place was here. I was lost in my own self-pity and mourning for times past when I felt needed. And just like that, skateboard man fell from the sky. He needed me to help him, but in reality I think he helped me the most. Geography doesn't define my purpose, or yours.
Serve people. In every opportunity you have. Love people well, even when you don't want to. Seek out the broken, the hopeless and the weary. And in those moments you will realize your own broken, weary and hopeless heart, and it will begin to heal.
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