Sometimes I have mini-personality crises, where I just don't understand myself and it confuses me a little. When I watched "Sense and Sensibility" in college, I was perplexed for a while about whether I was more like Elinor or Marianne. Romantic or pragmatic? Idealistic or realistic? This post is . . . the result of my idealism getting a stiff dose of reality thrown in with it.
For this trip, I came up with a lot of great ideas about the things I hoped to experience and learn, and I thought (still think) they were great things. The caveat, however, is that many of them are lessons which are learned through pain. Which I generally tend to HATE.
One of the things I was excited about learning was how to love and let go. My preferred relationship format is like this: I take my time getting to know a person and building a relationship with them, and then we stay friends forever. Which is nice, and y'know, sometimes you just don't have that luxury.
When I worked at summer camp two years ago, I had a hard time with the girls in my cabin, because each week, I felt like I had just learned to love them when they would up and leave and I knew I'd never see them again. What was worse was that, while I was still struggling with saying goodbye to those girls, a whole new group of girls for me to love would turn up at my doorstep, and I would think, "This isn't possible. The girls I love are gone, and I don't know or care about these girls." And then by the end of the week the story would be the same - the cycle just kept going.
While this was going on, the person who had the greatest impact on me, who invested in me more than anybody else, was a missionary kid who was working as the photographer. She was fun and gracious and she was willing to share herself with people, and it meant a lot to me. In my mind, I made a connection between her behavior and her upbringing, I expect because she said something about it, although I don't remember specifically.
Missionaries have so many goodbyes. When you give up one life to create a new life, you can lose your sense of home. You are rarely coming and often leaving. You have to love people you'll probably never see again.
And here's the truth: it really stinks.
It stinks that one of the people I've spent the most time with since coming here is leaving in three weeks. It stinks how many people I've met and left already who I will never see again. It stinks that I miss people back home so much. It stinks that I'm going to have a load of hard goodbyes every six months, culminating in one huge goodbye in two years. Most of those goodbyes would not be hard for me now, but it's very clear to me that by the time they take place, they will be incredibly difficult.
So here's the crux of the matter: Is it worth it? Is the reward worth the sacrifice? Is it worth it to learn to love people, knowing the hardship that it brings? (The goodbyes are only one section of the hardship, by the way.)
I choose to believe that it is. It doesn't always feel like it - sometimes it feels like the best and safest thing to do would just be to insulate yourself and avoid the vulnerability and pain. But that's not life - that is staleness and suffocation.
It has to be worth it - it has to be worth it.
Germany
Last night I gave away my favorite pair of earrings – some tiny crystal dangles I wear with everything. Just took them out of my ears and put them in the hand of one of my new friends who is working as a nurse in a country that is unfriendly to Christians. She is very cool . . . you would like her. And I cried, giving my earrings away. I realize how vain that sounds of me, but somehow it wasn't just a pair of earrings I was giving away. After all, I've given away dozens of pairs of earrings without even a twinge – probably more than one pair exactly like those. So today I've been thinking about why it was so difficult for me to do.
And I've reached one conclusion, so far. I will probably think about this more before it gets laid to rest, but for now just one main thing, which is this. I have in my mind designated every part of my life as either “Keep” or “Share.” For example: at home when I cook, I decide ahead of time whether to make enough for several people (share) or just one (keep). When visitors come to our home, I'm glad to let them stay in my room (share), but honey, I'm not about to give up my bed (keep). When I make things, I plan before I make them whether they will be mine or someone else's . . . and from time to time I have been known to move something from the “share” section to the “keep” section, but hardly ever vice-versa.
This time, I gave away something that was very clearly and very thoroughly mine. I made them, intending them for myself. I wear them all the time. And I can't just replace them, which makes this a legitimate sacrifice (very small, I know, but bear with me – it's the principle I'm after here).
I do that as well in my relationship with God. I say, “This much I will give you – yes, and aren't I generous? – but these things over here are mine. Come this far, please, and you're welcome! – but no further.”
It is hard to do, giving up things that we consider our own.
And I've reached one conclusion, so far. I will probably think about this more before it gets laid to rest, but for now just one main thing, which is this. I have in my mind designated every part of my life as either “Keep” or “Share.” For example: at home when I cook, I decide ahead of time whether to make enough for several people (share) or just one (keep). When visitors come to our home, I'm glad to let them stay in my room (share), but honey, I'm not about to give up my bed (keep). When I make things, I plan before I make them whether they will be mine or someone else's . . . and from time to time I have been known to move something from the “share” section to the “keep” section, but hardly ever vice-versa.
This time, I gave away something that was very clearly and very thoroughly mine. I made them, intending them for myself. I wear them all the time. And I can't just replace them, which makes this a legitimate sacrifice (very small, I know, but bear with me – it's the principle I'm after here).
I do that as well in my relationship with God. I say, “This much I will give you – yes, and aren't I generous? – but these things over here are mine. Come this far, please, and you're welcome! – but no further.”
It is hard to do, giving up things that we consider our own.
Then
I think I have a favorite word. It's "then."
So far, everyone I've told has responded with facial expressions ranging from politely feigned interest to sheer bewilderment. But it makes sense to me, even though I can't explain it incredibly well. And I know this because I first thought it about two years ago, and I still agree with myself.
(p.s., studying grammar can really be a curse - after my months tutoring English, I can hardly write a thing without pondering essential and nonessential clauses, direct and indirect objects, and other such nonsense. It is highly distracting.)
Anyway.
The word then is most often used as an adverb, and it commonly means "at that time," "immediately or soon afterward," next in time or place," or "therefore."
The word then implies that there is something more that you can't see. It carries a sense of expectation, because when you see it you know there is more coming, although you don't yet know what that might be. Furthermore, the expectation of then is always satisfied: there always is more and you are never left wanting.
I think that applies to my life . . . at least, I hope so. And I like that.
So far, everyone I've told has responded with facial expressions ranging from politely feigned interest to sheer bewilderment. But it makes sense to me, even though I can't explain it incredibly well. And I know this because I first thought it about two years ago, and I still agree with myself.
(p.s., studying grammar can really be a curse - after my months tutoring English, I can hardly write a thing without pondering essential and nonessential clauses, direct and indirect objects, and other such nonsense. It is highly distracting.)
Anyway.
The word then is most often used as an adverb, and it commonly means "at that time," "immediately or soon afterward," next in time or place," or "therefore."
The word then implies that there is something more that you can't see. It carries a sense of expectation, because when you see it you know there is more coming, although you don't yet know what that might be. Furthermore, the expectation of then is always satisfied: there always is more and you are never left wanting.
I think that applies to my life . . . at least, I hope so. And I like that.
If the first train left from Ohio going 80 miles an hour . . .
None of this is sinking in, you know.
I can talk about it all day long (which at this point actually makes it seem less real, not more), but it doesn't really penetrate the mind my words apparently spring from.
It's surreal. How can I possibly understand that I am about to lose (leave, which is almost the same) every SINGLE person I love, all at the same time? The other changes are interesting to me (figuring out what I'm going to need, how I'm going to avoid offending other cultures, how I'm going to cope with weird food, etc.), but those things become minimal when contrasted with this.
And so I go through my days one at a time, methodically working through my lists in my usual hap-hazard way. Somehow my lists are getting checked off . . . Yesterday I joined the church and responded to friends who want to help support me. Today I called a pastor at OM, got two immunization shots and another prescription, finished my Christmas shopping, and went by Bryan to say a few important goodbyes (which were very hard, by the way). Tomorrow I will clean the apartment, start packing, call my OM adviser, and bake cookies for the cookie exchange at the women's Bible study at Westminster. Thursday I will move back home, and Friday I will have my wisdom teeth out so they won't cause a crisis while I'm gone.
And all the while, in the back of my mind, I am incredibly sad. I don't wallow in it, but neither can I escape it. And honestly - I don't want to escape right now. I feel so distant from it all sometimes that it makes me worry about the long-term repurcussions. I'm afraid I won't understand what is happening to me until I'm sitting on the plane. (At which point I'll probably go into a glorious fit of sobbing and wailing and they'll have to sedate me to keep me from scaring the children.) I would rather do my grieving now, privately, and thoroughly.
But most of the time . . . I just can't. I do what needs to be done . . . but I don't understand.
I can talk about it all day long (which at this point actually makes it seem less real, not more), but it doesn't really penetrate the mind my words apparently spring from.
It's surreal. How can I possibly understand that I am about to lose (leave, which is almost the same) every SINGLE person I love, all at the same time? The other changes are interesting to me (figuring out what I'm going to need, how I'm going to avoid offending other cultures, how I'm going to cope with weird food, etc.), but those things become minimal when contrasted with this.
And so I go through my days one at a time, methodically working through my lists in my usual hap-hazard way. Somehow my lists are getting checked off . . . Yesterday I joined the church and responded to friends who want to help support me. Today I called a pastor at OM, got two immunization shots and another prescription, finished my Christmas shopping, and went by Bryan to say a few important goodbyes (which were very hard, by the way). Tomorrow I will clean the apartment, start packing, call my OM adviser, and bake cookies for the cookie exchange at the women's Bible study at Westminster. Thursday I will move back home, and Friday I will have my wisdom teeth out so they won't cause a crisis while I'm gone.
And all the while, in the back of my mind, I am incredibly sad. I don't wallow in it, but neither can I escape it. And honestly - I don't want to escape right now. I feel so distant from it all sometimes that it makes me worry about the long-term repurcussions. I'm afraid I won't understand what is happening to me until I'm sitting on the plane. (At which point I'll probably go into a glorious fit of sobbing and wailing and they'll have to sedate me to keep me from scaring the children.) I would rather do my grieving now, privately, and thoroughly.
But most of the time . . . I just can't. I do what needs to be done . . . but I don't understand.
(I'm not used to this title thing yet!)
I began my first blog on a whim. I had heard a friend mention her blog and I, vaguely familiar with the common use of blogs, decided that it might be fun to write journal entries into cyberspace – where nobody knew me and where I could, therefore, be very honest – without being treated differently as a consequence of my honesty.
That lasted – well, until I found one of my friend's blogs. Then it slowly morphed into a social sphere for me, where I could keep up with my friend's lives, share my own, and receive their feedback on my anecdotes and confessions. It was both an outlet for me and a social interaction. I walked a strange line between protecting it from people who I felt might compromise the freedom I felt there and advertising it out of a strong desire to be known by the people I trusted. I used it frequently for about four years – until my real-life personal interactions so greatly outweighed my web interactions that a blog became pointless.
Now things are different. Many things are different - some things have not changed. I still enjoy expressing myself and trying to figure things out using words. I still waffle between wanting to be known and wanting to protect myself and guard my words. I still love the truth – in spite of my weakness in that area and my frequent willingness to compromise it for my own purposes.
But my life – my direction – my purpose in writing – is different now. I am embarking on a huge new adventure, and one that I want to both document and share. (At some point I may explain on here how I got on this path . . . but really, this is just an introduction, okay? That'll have to wait.) I don't know yet how I will maneuver those opposing forces of disclosure and restraint. (I've thought about this.) What I do know . . . is that things are about to change for me. Everything that I know will change – the people I know, the culture I know, the home I know, the food I know, the ideas I know, the habits I know . . . honestly, anything could happen.
Crazy huh??
That lasted – well, until I found one of my friend's blogs. Then it slowly morphed into a social sphere for me, where I could keep up with my friend's lives, share my own, and receive their feedback on my anecdotes and confessions. It was both an outlet for me and a social interaction. I walked a strange line between protecting it from people who I felt might compromise the freedom I felt there and advertising it out of a strong desire to be known by the people I trusted. I used it frequently for about four years – until my real-life personal interactions so greatly outweighed my web interactions that a blog became pointless.
Now things are different. Many things are different - some things have not changed. I still enjoy expressing myself and trying to figure things out using words. I still waffle between wanting to be known and wanting to protect myself and guard my words. I still love the truth – in spite of my weakness in that area and my frequent willingness to compromise it for my own purposes.
But my life – my direction – my purpose in writing – is different now. I am embarking on a huge new adventure, and one that I want to both document and share. (At some point I may explain on here how I got on this path . . . but really, this is just an introduction, okay? That'll have to wait.) I don't know yet how I will maneuver those opposing forces of disclosure and restraint. (I've thought about this.) What I do know . . . is that things are about to change for me. Everything that I know will change – the people I know, the culture I know, the home I know, the food I know, the ideas I know, the habits I know . . . honestly, anything could happen.
Crazy huh??