Dreaming About Home...

   I'm a wreck right now. No, if you were sitting next to me (which Jake actually is) you wouldn't know it. But inside I am breaking.

   You may think that I want to go home. No. It's not that. Not all of it anyway.

   We had this amazing team here recently. One of the best. I've never felt so close to a really short-term team before.

   They were a high school youth group from a large church in Colorado Springs. Maybe the reason I loved them so much was because I'm just craving people my age around me. And don't yell at me for racism, because that's not what it is, but AMERICAN people my age.

   Yes, that sounds horrible, but Swazis are different than Americans. Obvious, right? Yes, everyone knows that us spoiled Americans have a completely different mindset than people living in third-world countries. Of course!

   We all 'know' that people are dying, are sick, are hungry, thirsty, but until you get here, and STAY here, you really have no idea how different it really is.

   So, to sum up, it is very hard to become friends with Swazi young people. No, not that they aren't friendly or anything. I guess I should say it this way. It is much different to be friends with Swazi young people.

   Most Swazis are very immature for their age. So, a 20 year old that works at our house is best buddies with Jake, who turns eleven in a week. Yes. So, you say, just be friends with 20 year olds! They're the same level of maturity, so it doesn't matter! Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. I couldn't really explain it in words. Lots of cultural stuff.

   So anyway, the team. Woodmen Valley is the name of their church.

   Woodmen had an awesome mix of personalities and spiritual strengths. I loved, loved, loved seeing all of them love on kids at their carepoint, trying to learn SiSwati, meeting gogos. The usual.

   I can't exactly explain why I loved Woodmen so much. Like I said, it probably had something to do with the fact that they were American kids close to my age. I don't know.

   They left last Sunday morning. I didn't cry, but I wanted to. I hugged them each goodbye and waved goodbye as they drove off in their bus. Goodbye Woodmen.

   It's so, so, SO hard. The team aspect of ministry here. So awesome, but so hard. You meet all of these new people, share amazing experiences with them, pray with them, talk to them and just share life with them in this unexpected setting, and then they leave. Just like that. Gone. And you'll probably never see them. Ever again. In this life anyway.

   And the thing of it is, they get to go home in a week or two. Get on with their lives. Yes, this experience has changed them, (or we'd like to hope so anyway) but they're home. I don't think they forget about me, or our family, or Africa, but the memory is tucked away in a little hidden compartment in their minds. But for me, I think about each and  every team that left an impact on me daily. Seriously, I do. Different things will trigger the thoughts. Something I see on Facebook, a place or person we saw while they were here, or even a meal we had with them.

   I dreamt that we went home last night. It was so strange, and I can't get it out of my head. I had my first day of high school. I saw people I love. It was bizarre. I woke up and didn't know where I was. For a moment I was disappointed. I thought that I had really seen my grandparents for the first time in 4 months. I thought I had really started high school and met new friends. The disappointment was fleeting, though. After a moment I realized I really was happy here, and I really do love it here. Because in the dream I really missed being here. Even in the midst of all the happiness, I really did want to be here.

   I think that dream was God's way of telling me that He needed me here right now. And making me really appreciate this amazing experience I'm having. How many 13 year olds really get to do this? Not many, I can tell you that.

   Today I read a Facebook note someone on the Woodmen team wrote about post-Africa feelings and emotions. She said this:

   "I don’t feel like Africa wrecked my life. I feel like it slowly crept into my heart, wrapped it’s roots around me, and is firmly embedded in who I am."

   I'm happy for her. I'm happy that Africa didn't completely rock her world. But for me, it did. Africa did wreck my life. And don't read that in a negative context, but Africa turned my entire life upside down. I will never, ever, ever be the same. And I will never have a TRUE place to call home.

   I feel sorry for myself sometimes. Often, actually. I'm trying not to. But sometimes I do. I lament the fact that I will never be home again. Not really. Because even if we go home after this time, and I tuck away the memory of the two years I spent in Africa as a teen, and go on with life, that memory will always be there.

   But it's ok. It really is. At the beginning of this blog I was tied up inside and scared and lonely. But now I think I'm at peace. For now. I needed to write this blog, to pour out what's written on my heart right now. Please know I'm really exposing myself with this. Some of it may seem extreme or offensive. I'm sorry if it does. It's what I'm feeling. Take it or leave it.

  So anyway, thanks for taking the time to read about my brokenness...