Of Holding On and Letting Go (A Somewhat Late Last Blog)

From the moment I first got on a plane leaving New Mexico to head to my training camp in Atlanta to the moment I stepped onto the plane that would bring me back home to New Mexico…I had the same vision of how I would look back on this trip. I imagined the surrealness and confusion, the "what just happened?" feeling in my heart. I (like a teammate whose blog I just read) felt like this whole experience would seem as if it had been one long dream. That it would feel as though it only existed in my imagniation, or maybe it wouldn't feel like it existed at all. I imagined that to step into the airport and see the smiles of parents would be something like waking up home in bed. I've been home for about a week and a half; I now know that it's something like that, but also not much like that at all.

Being home has thus far been just as much a learning process as being in Africa for 3 months was. I spent quite a few days recalling, trying to be back in Africa, with my team, ministering, as best I could. I thought about my "little sisters" in Uganda. About how I want to get them a children's Bible and sit in the grass and eat mendazi with them. I thought about trusting God with them, as hard as that is. I thought about being in the hospitals that felt like the worst place anyone could be. I thought of the smell and the rage I felt that children had to be there. I thought of the broken heart I had, but the hope that God could change things; I thought of the broken heart He must have and the desire He must have to do so.

I thought of Kenya, of the heartfelt conversations we'd have with both hurting and joyful people at door to door. Of the words of encouragement and prayers my teammates and I didn't even know we had that came spilling out of our mouths. I thought of the children on the stage at church wearing bright blue shirts that said "Kingdom Kids" dancing joyfully and without fear — I remembered that was how everyone, big and small, danced in Africa. I thought of my team doing devos together in the mornings, our team leader forcing us to do jumping jacks so that we'd be awake for ministry. 🙂 I thought of a family I loved — Margeret, Jeremiah and their daughters, Faith and Lucy — that I hope to someday see again.

I even thought of Tanzania, our hardest country. Of the drive, the 1000s of people that had to have been on that bus, the excitement of seeing the giraffes feet away from us, the sunsets. I thought of the crusades, the dancing and the exhaustion. I thought of how eager we all were to be home, how excited we were in Nairobi to have something that tasted nearly American.

I spent a lot of time thinking, wanting desperately to hold on. And God let me do so, sit thinking, for a while. Then He'd gently remind me "What you grip and refuse to let go of, you tend to lose…what you trust me with, I'll keep safe for you." (Luke 17:33) The more He told me this, the more I allowed myself to look around and remember the blessing that I have here in the U.S., in New Mexico. I remembered my family and how much I do love them, how great my freinds are here, how I enjoy my university and God has ministry for me here. I'm learning to let go of the need to be back in this experience that changed my life, entrusting it to God to make something better of it, and live right here and now, in this experience that will mold me as well.

Still, I've decided I'm not content to let Africa, this incredible summer, feel as though it were a dream or nothing at all. I'd waited my whole life for this, and though I know I can't live it any longer, I know much of it will live in me. The beauty and joy I saw in those who had little to nothing, their generosity and love. A heart for justice that, thanks to the Lord, I'll never be able to shake. 🙂 The confidence to dance and the boldness to speak up that reminded me how very valuable every life is. The people I will carry in my heart always. I have a feeling Africa is not done with me yet, but this is the final chapter of this particular experience. I will go back to read it and remember (and the characters better still be a significant part of my life…) and will probably be processing for years. But I thank God when I remember everything. And I thank everyone who prayed, who helped me and supported me, who listens to me talk even today. You've changed more lives than you know. And I thank God.

Bwana Asifiwe. Amen.