Unsettled Hearts

The day we arrived back in the country, we pulled up to our house to drop off the 16 bins carrying our life for the past year. New houses had been built, old neighbors had moved out, and new neighbors had moved in. So much was exactly the same, but so much was so different. 

In Uganda, we went from having a 6 week countdown going strong, to being told that we needed to leave the country within one week. It was a crazy mix of emotions. We had been gearing up our hearts and minds to come home, and we were excited, for sure, but 6 weeks is a lot different than 1 week. (We are still just as in the dark as all of you about why we were told to leave early. We don't know all that is going on with the ministry that we worked with, but we trust that God was so much in the timing, and though we were surprised by the change, God was not.)

As we drove into the neighborhood, I noticed that some good friends were playing outside, so I said to one of the kids, "Why don't you run down and say hello?" I had no idea how bad that idea was. It was too soon. My precious child went running excitedly, stopped suddenly halfway down the street and then came running back to me hysterically crying. Through sobs he said, "I can't do it. I don't know why. I just don't know who I am supposed to be with them."

"I don't know who I'm supposed to be." Wow. 

Through my own tears I considered giving the "just be yourself" answer, but somehow I knew that this was much deeper and more complex than that. So we went in the house and let the emotions come. 

His poor heart didn't recover from that for at least another week. He asked to not see any friends until he was ready. Maybe I should have seen that coming, but then again, I don't think he had any idea until that moment running down the street either. 

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Another simple question, another unexpected response.

"Hey, do you want to switch bedrooms with your sister since she likes your paint color and you don't," I asked.

Instant sobbing. Runny nose, hysterical crying and pacing the room. 

"Mom, it makes no sense, but all I thought about in Uganda was my window. I missed my window and I like where my room is. It's just too much to think about. I can't handle it. The change is too much."

Of course, it didn't make a difference to me. It seemed logical for them to switch instead of repainting 2 rooms, but it didn't really matter. 

The familiarity of something as strange as a window brought up so much emotion.

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Since we came home early, our renters were still living in our house, and we had the blessed opportunity to be invited into the homes of many friends who love us dearly. Those weeks were such a gift, and although we knew it on some level, until last night, I had no idea just how great a buffer those homes were between the world we left and the world we call home. 

Those weeks gave us time to adjust slowly to America. Our church had provided groceries that lasted for the first couple weeks, so we could avoid being overwhelmed by the stores for a while. Our friends let us dig through their kids' clothing when we had nothing to wear because all of our Africa clothes was full of holes, faded by the line drying and stained by the bright red dirt. 

To me, that old clothes was trashed, to the kids, that clothes was precious. We gave away all of the decent clothes while still in Uganda, and it was my intention to throw away all of the clothing that did make it back here with us. The kids didn't let me though.They wouldn't stop wearing the worn out clothes that they had become so accustomed to over the past year. For them, that was one way to hold on, one more piece of the past year that they weren't letting go of just yet.  Last night, 6 weeks after coming home, I had them go through the plethora of hand-me-down clothing that we have been given. I wanted the kids to find what they loved and fill their closets back up. They wouldn't take more than a handful of items. The girls picked 3 shirts and thought they were done. After all, we lived a year with only as many outfits, why would we need more than that here?

So, now, we have been back in our very own house, with all of our old stuff out of storage for 5 days, and they have been the hardest 5 days of my life. The crazy, unpredictable emotions, the lack of patience we all have, and the stress of making decisions all weigh on us.

Every decision seems so important and so big. We don’t remember where we used to have certain furniture or items in the house.  And even if we did, would we still want it there now? It feels like now is the time to start fresh and incorporate newness into our old patterns, but at the same time, we are craving the comfort of old routines. I still keep going over to the pen drawer and expect it to be organized like I've always had it rather than holding the one lone pen as it does now.

While we crave the comfort of old routines, even those are elusive. Who did we used to be? What were our roles here? Did you do the vacuuming or did I? Who was responsible for laundry and grocery shopping? Does this distribution of labor make sense now? I thought you would take care of that. Well, I thought you took care of that. 

We were only gone for a year. In reality, it wasn’t that long. I know that. I feel silly not remembering the simplest parts of our life here. It’s hard to explain, and it makes no sense logically. Maybe this is the part that they say you have to experience to understand, but I will do my best to paint a picture of where we are right now.

Moving to Uganda was like moving to another planet. Our lives were turned completely upside-down. Very few things resembled our lives here, and the stress was constant. We held starving babies, saw death, experienced manipulation, witnessed severe neglect and devastation and were faced with plenty of situations where there was nothing we could do but pray and trust that God would intervene, or that He had purpose in the suffering. So much of our day-to-day life, the things that were “normal” in Uganda, caused our hearts to throb. If only our hearts could have just broken, it would have felt better. The tension, the pressure would have released, instead it was this swollen, hurting emotion that could not be comforted. Each time the phone rang or someone knocked on our gate, we had to be prepared for our plans for that day and sometimes that week to be altered. Living in a developing nation, almost everything is an emergency. Living on high alert for an extended period of time is exhausting and terrifying and required us to be ready for anything at any moment.

I read that many people come home with a sort of mild Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am starting to understand that a little. Even though we are safe and life is okay, our hearts hold onto what we’ve experienced. In those moments between wake and sleep, we revert back to the state of high-alert, or our hearts wander to the friends we love there and the people we know are still suffering. Relaxation is difficult, and if we do fall back into our old patterns of life and live carefree, then where do we put what we have seen and experienced.

It’s easier for me to focus on the kids and on their processing because, in a way, that is one more distraction to allow me to avoid my own processing, but it is becoming unavoidable. Dave and I have been struggling with the most basic communication in the past few days, and it is scary when your marriage, your foundation feels uncertain. We have been snippy with each other, and have lacked grace. (Doesn’t that sound so sweet? “Lacking grace” sounds so much nicer than admitting the rude, mean, controlling, hurtful things we have said and done lately. :-s) We called it what it was last night though, and found a place of peace. Sometimes just naming the thing stops the negative thoughts from growing and eliminates the need to blame each other. We can blame the thing instead and that leaves room for grace. 

Who are we supposed to be? Who is God calling us to be now, with what we have learned, with what he has shown us? We don’t know the answers, but I think these are some of the right questions no matter where we are in life.

When God called us out upon the waters, we walked with confidence. We never once felt outside of the will of God, but we did let Him drag us through some things that we would never have chosen to experience if we were in charge.

A friend recently described God as being “thick”, not an adjective commonly used to describe God, but it spoke to me. God is absolutely the center of our lives. He is in control and uses every single thing to draw us closer to Himself. We want nothing more than to be where He wants us. Sometimes, that is full of joy and hope and wonder and all things good. Other times, that feels more like quicksand or like walking up the down escalator. I have moments that I want to bow out of certain situations. I want to tell God that it’s been great, but I want a life that is easier. I don’t want to be strong or stretched or grown any more, but God is thick. He doesn’t make me stay, He lets me go. He lets me give Him the silent treatment and ignore Him. He’s thick like peanut butter though, and when those moments last for days, and I feel like I've pulled so far away, I turn back, and have to laugh because I haven’t gotten very far. And what a gift that is. What a gift to be loved by a God who can not only handle all of my brokenness and my attempts to run my own life, but who watches me  turn my back and just remains there with open arms no matter what I say or do.

May I extend to others just an ounce of the grace that He has given to me.