"Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil, cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need."
--Romans 12:9-13
I read this verse in my quiet time this morning (again, in the backyard. Physically recreating that African quiet time isn't working out at all, but spiritually? Well, at least some of it is still there). This is one of those verses I skimmed over the first time. You know how you can read something, but not really read it? Yeah, that's what I did. Again with the emphasis on re-reading little sections of scripture, I believe that is an important thing to do. We like to think that the greater quantity of the Bible we read the better. But really, I think the less you read, the better. Because when you read less, you focus on it more. You see it come alive in a way like never before.
I'm not a Bible scholar by any means at all, but there are two important things you need to know when reading this verse: the definition of zeal and the definition of fervor (like I said, not a Bible scholar). Zeal: eager or intensely devoted interest in the the pursuit of something; passionate. And Fervor: great warmth of feeling, intense heat; intensity of feeling or expression. If you were to take these definitions and put them in place of the words in this verse, and read it over and over and over again, I have a feeling it would take on a new meaning for you.
Being back in America is hard for a number of reasons, but perhaps the hardest thing is this: I feel like I am spiritually dying off day by day. "Alright Anna, stop being so melodramatic," is probably what you're thinking right about now. "Spiritually dying? Really? No. This is just some form of culture shock, it will wear off." Did you think that too? I will admit, a year ago had I heard someone say that (what I just wrote) upon returning home from Africa, I would've thought they were exaggerating, or were depressed, or in shock.
But the reality is this: God is becoming less and less tangible as each day passes. I know it's hard to understand, and I'm sorry I can't explain it better. I truly wish that I could, but I can't. My greatest fear is this: that I will reach a point where I have not only forgotten the closeness I felt to God in Africa, but that I won't crave it either. That is greater than any fear I have ever had, or ever will have. And I feel like already I am forgetting what utter dependency upon God was like, and it's terrifying.
My teammate and dear friend Sara said it well, "To be in a place where the world revolves around people is so deadening to my soul." I will be completely honest, my flesh is so happy to be back in America. Clean running water, a variety of food, A.C., paved roads, a comfy bed.. my flesh is so happy. But my heart knows something is missing, that there is something more. I know that there is more to life than this here, right in front of me, because I have experienced it.
I went for a run this morning and as I ran on the neighborhood sidewalks, I thought, "I don't want to be here. I don't want this life." How could anyone in their right mind not want this life? I guess I am just crazy. I would trade my toilet for a squatty potty in a second, I would eat rice and macarone for every single meal, I would sleep on a mattress with fleas every night of my life if it meant being in Africa and feeling Africa again. Why is Africa so great, you ask? How can a place with such poverty be greater than America?
I look at the American culture -full of entertainment, material possessions, every comfort possible- and my heart just breaks. You don't understand what you're missing. You don't know how much all of this 'stuff' keeps you from Him. You don't understand what it's like when He is enough. You've never experienced utter dependence upon Him, and how beautiful that is. And that makes my heart weep, because I want that for you so badly.
Our 'stuff' truly does get in the way, it is incredibly stifling and suffocating. I know people who go on mission trips tend to come back angry at how much we, as Americans, have physically. But for me, that is not the case. I look at material possessions-- nice houses, televisions, fancy cars, movies, games.. and my heart breaks. I don't want people to give those things up so that others in Africa can have them. That is the last thing I want. I want people to surrender them because when you don't have any of those things, that is when you truly experience what it is to live each moment in God. And you have to trust me when I say, that is more satisfying than anything you can ever physically possess.
My spiritual fervor and zeal are dying. And I don't know if I can ever get them back if I am here in America. If I had to choose just one reason why I wanted to go back to Africa, that would be the reason- to have fervor and zeal for the Lord, and to walk every step with Him. I just don't see how it is possible for me to do that here in America.
What keeps zeal and spiritual fervor alive? Loving little African kiddos the way the Lord does. Being joyful in all circumstances, and never losing hope. Being patient when you go through trials, when you're hurting, when you don't understand the suffering around you. Praying faithfully day in and day out, for every single thing, no matter how 'little' or 'big'. Loving your teammates, your brother and sisters in Christ, more than you love yourself. Showing God's love to those who need Him.
Why can't those things keep my spiritual fervor and zeal alive here? Honestly, I don't know why. A few verses before this, Paul writes about how we are one body with many parts and how we each have different gifts. Not everyone is called overseas, not everyone should go overseas. I do not want to belittle doing God's work here in America. God calls us each to different things and different places, someone is called to stay here and to be the light to people in America. Being God's hands and feet to the people in America is what keeps some people's spiritual fervor and zeal alive. And that is perfectly okay, I don't want to make that work seem unimportant, because it is very important. But for me, I feel as if my spiritual fervor and zeal will die if I don't get back to Africa.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
life at home
The first blogpost you write on any blog is always a bit intimidating, well in my opinion anyway. There's always the struggle of not knowing where to start. And it's even more overwhelming to pick a starting point when you have a month's worth (if not more) of thoughts to catch up on.
When you've been gone for a month, coming home is strange.. and when you've been overseas (in Africa) it's even more bizarre. I was only in Africa for 1 month, which really is not that long. But for 10 months, it's what my life revolved around. Whether it was packing for Africa, shopping for skirts, writing emails to my team, or struggling with fear.. life was all about going to Africa. Now I'm home, I've gone to Africa and come back. And there's this empty nothingness that I really can't describe.
It feels like I've been home a lot longer than 2 days. Bugiri seems like forever ago, almost like a dream. I've found myself walking around the house simply not knowing what to do with myself. I'm hooked to my email because I keep talking with my teammates (were we really, just one week ago, talking in person? That seems unreal). I'm editing picture after picture of Uganda, the children there, my team, the animals, the people, the houses.. everything. Editing the pictures gives me something to do, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my time once my pictures are all photoshopped.
Every waking moment, Africa is on my mind. What would I be doing in Africa right now? It's cliche, but it's true: you can take the girl out of Africa, but you can't take Africa out of the girl. I didn't intend to fall in love with Africa, I didn't mean to get so attached to the kids there, or love our host family and friends so much. But somehow it happened.
You put on a pair of pants in the morning, but jeans feel too uncomfortable to wear (you've been dreaming of wearing a tank top with jeans for a month, but now that you're home, you find yourself pulling out your Africa skirts from the bottom of your drawer). The idea of American food isn't as appealing as it was a week ago, eating in general doesn't sound too good. You go to sleep, tears rolling down your face as you pray for Henry, that he stays safe and healthy and happy. And when you wake up, you cry again, thinking of him, wondering what he is doing, thinking, feeling.
You breathe in, you breathe out. You're still thinking of Africa. It doesn't always necessarily bring you to tears thinking about it. Some moments it does, you miss it so much. Other moments, thinking of Africa makes you so incredibly happy. Usually when you think about Africa (which is almost every second) you sit in a daze, not sure what to do. You don't feel anger all that much, maybe frustration over some things. Overall, you feel more on the depressed side. And at times, a bit -for lack of a better word- numb. Everything about your life in America seems a slight bit pointless.
Sleep hasn't come easily the past 2 nights, because every time you close your eyes, you see those kiddos. You see their torn shirts, their dirty feet, their bright smiles. You hear their laughs, imagine them screaming, "Muzungu!" at you from across the road. You wish you could feel their fingers pulling on your hair, their little bodies sitting on your lap. But a huge ocean separates you from them. No more holding their hands, smiling at them, singing songs, cuddling them in you lap. Now all you can do is pray for them, and (although you know it's important) it doesn't seem like enough.
Basically life at home is just... extremely weird. Physically you're home, among your family and friends and house and church. But mentally, your mind is in Africa. Along with your heart.
When you've been gone for a month, coming home is strange.. and when you've been overseas (in Africa) it's even more bizarre. I was only in Africa for 1 month, which really is not that long. But for 10 months, it's what my life revolved around. Whether it was packing for Africa, shopping for skirts, writing emails to my team, or struggling with fear.. life was all about going to Africa. Now I'm home, I've gone to Africa and come back. And there's this empty nothingness that I really can't describe.
It feels like I've been home a lot longer than 2 days. Bugiri seems like forever ago, almost like a dream. I've found myself walking around the house simply not knowing what to do with myself. I'm hooked to my email because I keep talking with my teammates (were we really, just one week ago, talking in person? That seems unreal). I'm editing picture after picture of Uganda, the children there, my team, the animals, the people, the houses.. everything. Editing the pictures gives me something to do, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my time once my pictures are all photoshopped.
Every waking moment, Africa is on my mind. What would I be doing in Africa right now? It's cliche, but it's true: you can take the girl out of Africa, but you can't take Africa out of the girl. I didn't intend to fall in love with Africa, I didn't mean to get so attached to the kids there, or love our host family and friends so much. But somehow it happened.
You put on a pair of pants in the morning, but jeans feel too uncomfortable to wear (you've been dreaming of wearing a tank top with jeans for a month, but now that you're home, you find yourself pulling out your Africa skirts from the bottom of your drawer). The idea of American food isn't as appealing as it was a week ago, eating in general doesn't sound too good. You go to sleep, tears rolling down your face as you pray for Henry, that he stays safe and healthy and happy. And when you wake up, you cry again, thinking of him, wondering what he is doing, thinking, feeling.
You breathe in, you breathe out. You're still thinking of Africa. It doesn't always necessarily bring you to tears thinking about it. Some moments it does, you miss it so much. Other moments, thinking of Africa makes you so incredibly happy. Usually when you think about Africa (which is almost every second) you sit in a daze, not sure what to do. You don't feel anger all that much, maybe frustration over some things. Overall, you feel more on the depressed side. And at times, a bit -for lack of a better word- numb. Everything about your life in America seems a slight bit pointless.
Sleep hasn't come easily the past 2 nights, because every time you close your eyes, you see those kiddos. You see their torn shirts, their dirty feet, their bright smiles. You hear their laughs, imagine them screaming, "Muzungu!" at you from across the road. You wish you could feel their fingers pulling on your hair, their little bodies sitting on your lap. But a huge ocean separates you from them. No more holding their hands, smiling at them, singing songs, cuddling them in you lap. Now all you can do is pray for them, and (although you know it's important) it doesn't seem like enough.
Basically life at home is just... extremely weird. Physically you're home, among your family and friends and house and church. But mentally, your mind is in Africa. Along with your heart.
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