So. Here I am again. The eve of my departure from Rwanda. I've now spent a year of my life living in low-income countries, pieced together over the years. And the longer I do this, the more I realize both how much I don't know--and how easy it is to become an arrogant know-it-all expat.
I interact with that type more in DC than anywhere else--name-dropping countries they have been in, comparing hotels in different places. The NGO snob. And I always have this overwhelming urge to get out of the room as quickly as I can. Like it will rub off on me. I just need a little corner with a mat to sleep on, I think. And then comes the thought, 'but, maybe with a real shower and hot water?'
Travelling has indeed become part of my life. Bits and pieces of these places follow me wherever I go. I find myself teaching Rwandan friends some Hindi while forgetting anything but the German word for window. I often find myself in those liminal spaces--where I look out on the rainstorm and the city of Kigali and can't believe I am really here, watching lightning strike a few hills over. Thinking through details for a friend's bridal shower out on the balcony. Still can't quite believe that this is my work.
This trip has not been all flowers and rainbows. I've lived in the office again, fighting the urge to either work all the time or avoid it at all costs. I've reconnected with old friends but have experienced great loneliness. And I'm thankful for that. For coming to the place where I cannot turn to a roommate for advice, or call someone up to talk it through. For there, I am reminded of the place I'm supposed to go first. To the feet of Jesus.
So many nights laying in bed and crying out to God. But so many answers. Always a reminder that I'm not actually alone. That He brought me here again for a reason. For friends, for relationship. But also to grow me up, to help me make big decisions and to learn what running a program day in and day out actually looks like. Not easy, and never quite finished.
Two months is a long time to be away on a regular basis, especially when it's across an ocean. But I am realizing that these times are a gift--a time where I am set apart from everyday life to focus on work, on relationships in another place, and most importantly, to learn over and over how to depend on the Lord for my every breath.
So. Tomorrow after work, I will get on a plane. Tonight, I will work and pack and clean. But as I go, these little pieces will come with me--the moments on the balcony watching the storms. The conversation in the dark with my dear friend Claire. The smiles and joy coming from sweet faces of young girls playing a game in one of our girl gatherings. The moments at 2am when I couldn't sleep and poured out my heart to God. The face of a tiny child in her mother's arms, patiently letting me take her MUAC. They will go with me, fluttering in the wind, flying across the ocean. They will touch my family, they will stay with me as I walk to work, and they will remind me every day to be thankful for the moments where God met me in the dark, in the rain, and in the faces of joyful baby girls.
I interact with that type more in DC than anywhere else--name-dropping countries they have been in, comparing hotels in different places. The NGO snob. And I always have this overwhelming urge to get out of the room as quickly as I can. Like it will rub off on me. I just need a little corner with a mat to sleep on, I think. And then comes the thought, 'but, maybe with a real shower and hot water?'
Travelling has indeed become part of my life. Bits and pieces of these places follow me wherever I go. I find myself teaching Rwandan friends some Hindi while forgetting anything but the German word for window. I often find myself in those liminal spaces--where I look out on the rainstorm and the city of Kigali and can't believe I am really here, watching lightning strike a few hills over. Thinking through details for a friend's bridal shower out on the balcony. Still can't quite believe that this is my work.
This trip has not been all flowers and rainbows. I've lived in the office again, fighting the urge to either work all the time or avoid it at all costs. I've reconnected with old friends but have experienced great loneliness. And I'm thankful for that. For coming to the place where I cannot turn to a roommate for advice, or call someone up to talk it through. For there, I am reminded of the place I'm supposed to go first. To the feet of Jesus.
So many nights laying in bed and crying out to God. But so many answers. Always a reminder that I'm not actually alone. That He brought me here again for a reason. For friends, for relationship. But also to grow me up, to help me make big decisions and to learn what running a program day in and day out actually looks like. Not easy, and never quite finished.
Two months is a long time to be away on a regular basis, especially when it's across an ocean. But I am realizing that these times are a gift--a time where I am set apart from everyday life to focus on work, on relationships in another place, and most importantly, to learn over and over how to depend on the Lord for my every breath.
So. Tomorrow after work, I will get on a plane. Tonight, I will work and pack and clean. But as I go, these little pieces will come with me--the moments on the balcony watching the storms. The conversation in the dark with my dear friend Claire. The smiles and joy coming from sweet faces of young girls playing a game in one of our girl gatherings. The moments at 2am when I couldn't sleep and poured out my heart to God. The face of a tiny child in her mother's arms, patiently letting me take her MUAC. They will go with me, fluttering in the wind, flying across the ocean. They will touch my family, they will stay with me as I walk to work, and they will remind me every day to be thankful for the moments where God met me in the dark, in the rain, and in the faces of joyful baby girls.
1 comment:
So beautiful! Praying that those times spent with Jesus will build and unshakable foundation of peace, joy and utter trust in Him.
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