Bridges

So, I’m back in Bundibugyo. I was gone from the district for just under 6 weeks. A month of that was spent in St. Louis. It was a good month. It was soooooo good to spend time with familiar faces, to laugh with friends and family, to hear and tell stories, to give and get hugs, to mourn losses with friends, to celebrate with them…it was rich time. What did I eat you ask? I’ve realized the last few days that the best culinary experiences I had were more about the company than about the food…there were some good meals, no doubt, but I cherished the ones I was eating with more that what I was eating. That said, it was fabulous to eat good burgers and buffalo fries, salads with LETTUCE!, to drink fountain diet coke with free refills until I couldn’t drink anymore, to reach into the freezer and eat ice cream in plenty (or just a couple spoonfuls if I wanted), and fru-fru coffee drinks at lots of local coffee shops…it was nice.

There was explaining to be done…there were hard conversations to be had…there were disappointments and disappointing…but God used and is using it all.

One of the moments that sticks out in my mind is a conversation I had with my oldest (ie. longest standing, NOT “eldest”) friend over bagels ( ☺ ) and hot chocolate…I told her of Jennifer’s prayer for me before leaving Bundibugyo, that people I encountered would not be scared of me, that they would not be intimidated by how different my life has been from theirs for the last year we’ve been apart and that they would therefore not know how to relate to me, what to say, what to ask. My dear friend heard me re-tell Jennifer’s anticipation of my experience at home, and then there were tears…there were apologies and there was forgiveness, there were questions and there were answers…there was honesty which brought about freedom.

My friend, whose first word was, “Hei-di,” was having a hard time coming up with words that seem appropriate…words that might cross the chasm between her life experience and over the last year and mine…struggles and heartache, joys and celebrations…how might they compare? Do they even matter? I tried to walk across the tenuous bridge that I can see across the chasm, or at least to describe it from my side of the chasm.

I tried to explain that the person she sees across the chasm is still me, I’m still the same person, I still enjoy the same things, laugh at the same things, struggle with the same things, but because of what I’ve seen/heard/felt/experienced in the last year I see the world from a bit of a different perspective than I did before. The situation is the same for her, she is still the same person, but sees the world a bit differently based on the things that she has seen/heard/felt/experienced in the last year. I also tried to make it clear that heartache is the same the world ‘round. Just because in certain countries/places/situations, people have more money/education/opportunities, doesn’t mean that their heartaches/struggles are less (or more) significant than those of the poor/less fortunate….suddenly the bridge seemed a bit stronger, like we could both take steps towards each other. We could both see each other a bit more clearly which I think makes the steps less scary.

She was not alone, she was just the person that was honest enough with me to tell me what the chasm looked like from her perspective. It so helped me to see things from her perspective, and others’, and the Spirit helped give me the words to try to explain mine…It helped me to know how to talk to others, how to walk the bridge that I know and feel is weak, but it’s there.

...with faith like a child…

Dear God, surround me as I speak.
The bridges that I walk across are weak.
The frustrations fill the void that I can’t solely bear.
Dear God, don’t let me fall apart.
You’ve held me close to You.
But I have turned away in search for answers I can understand..

Sometimes, when I feel miles away,
And my eyes can’t see Your face,
Well, I wonder if I’ve grown to loose the record
since I walked in light of you…

( Faith Like a Child – Jars of Clay)

I know I know, old school Jars of Clay…Jamie Smith singing Flood while rocking the Port-a-Potty back and forth from inside, anyone?...anyways…I could have filled a bucket of tears on the little commuter plane Continental flight from St. Louis to Newark…iPod in ears, window seat on the two-seater side of the plane, and hopefully quiet sobs with quick inhales as not to make a scene. This was the song that brought on the tears. The bridges, the frustrations, the voids, the search for answers I can understand, the feeling miles away, the not being able to see His face…it all resonated in my heart like a kettle drum…I was an emotional basket case by the time I left the States, my family and friends tried to understand why, and how they could help…no one, even me, knew what to say, and that’s okay…words aren’t always helpful, but hugs and tears and presence are, so thank you.