What Were You Doing in the Wardrobe?

Sir, you wouldn’t believe it if we told you.

This won’t be a blog of pretty words, of euphoric revelation, of wisdom poured out. But it will be what the Lord has set on my heart, and it will be real, and it will be raw. And it may offend, and it may seem impolite, and I may sound like a child, but please, have some grace for me.

Today is April 30th.

That means I have 14 days until my plane touches down in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the United States of America.

Home.
Jim Curry.
Yungcah.
Jake and Abby.
Maple Avenue.
Indian Valley Faith Fellowship.
Camp Men-o-lan.
My car.
A house.
Paved roads.
Grass.
Clothes.
A washer and dryer.
Walmart.
The English Language.
Hummus and Pita.

The reality of that finally hit me last night, walking down the dirt path to our sketchy bathroom in my bare feet, feeling the fine dark brown and black sand cool under my toes, the texture that always lets me know that I’m home at Zehandi – I looked around me to the most perfect view anyone could ever imagine – rolling hills, jagged, majestic mountains, a watercolor painted sky and sunset reflecting off of the lake, a sandy gorge filled with little wheat like weeds twinkling in the fading light – it’s the moments that take your breath away, right? This place, this land, this city on a hill where God has chosen to make His home holds indescribable beauty, and power, and the Lord is HERE. Every day. All day. Him and I talk, and walk, and I hear Him, and I know His voice.

I genuinely want to throw up thinking about leaving.

Right now, I’m alone while my squad is together – at a table, in a restaurant, blatantly, shamelessly, and opening weeping.

A few minutes ago, after I got out of my shower, I watched a bunch of culturally insensitive tourist women interact with one of the men who sells hand-carved knick knacks on the beach, and I was LIVID: how could they even look at him? When he’s wearing dirty, ripped clothes and has NOTHING; when they have perfectly pressed dresses and full purses and he’s struggling to sell the work of his hands for a few hundred kwacha? How could they whip out their iphones and pose for pictures? What contempt that man must hold for them his heart. Mostly, I was livid because THAT’S ME. Sure, I have a pack that has a sleeping bag, a tent, the same three outfits I’ve worn for nine months that are so stretched out from handwashing I look obese when I wear them, and I have to walk and carry my own water, and I live in a tent in the dirt but, let’s face it. None of those things make me special, none of that makes me a great person or a good, or radical, Christian. I merely did what the Lord told me to do, which is something we all should strive for every day. Boy, is that me. And I certainly don’t want to be.

In the least cocky way possible, I truly don’t think that I’m an ignorant tourist. The Lord has put too much compassion and understanding in my heart for me to be disrespectful in that sense, and He’s given me a heart of grace to not hold contempt for people who aren’t the same. Those women were so beautiful – they really were. I have no place to judge them at all. Please, understand that.

All the same, I wonder, how do I go back to America, where there’s so much of that? Where no one gets it? When I’ve seen more than most people will see in their lifetime and I’ve been WRECKED, but I’ll get home and the life around me will go on unchanged? When the Lord’s changed me so much I have no idea who I am anymore? Where I’ll have no idea what to say, or if people will even believe me?

I can’t take credit for this comparison, but it’s like Narnia. Like I just stepped into this magically brilliant, different world, where I’ve seen devastation, and victory, where I’ve seen heroes rise up and become a hero myself, where I’ve spent so much time changing into the warrior the Lord wants me to be, gaining all this wisdom, all these years, a few wrinkles on my face, where I’ve grown into myself and look more like me than I ever have before, and I look more like the Lord than I ever have before, and He suddenly wasn’t just a legend anymore but a roaring, grandiose lion I’ve seen with my own eyes and walked with every day in the garden, where I’ve seen evil beyond comprehension, where I’ve seen leaders fall to come back even stronger, where I’ve seen nature coming alive to bring a fragrant offering of worship to its Maker. And I’ll fall back out of the wardrobe into a place where I’m expected to fit back into a cookie cutter mold of who I was before, and I just won’t fit there anymore. But life won’t accept that. And it’ll be like nothing around me has changed, but I will have. And I’m left with the question of: will I be more than when I left? When I’ve seen the vision of who I should be? Where is reality and what are the actions that will define who I am?

I’m literally on the verge of mental and emotional collapse.

I can’t do this.

How can I do this?

I can’t figure out what about my life is dream or reality.

And my only reality right now is about to become a dream.

Within two weeks, everything that has become the norm in my life is going to fade into a memory and exist as pages full of black ink held within a few dirty, worn journals.

That is absolutely TERRIFYING, holding true to every sense of the word.

Home.
That means no more Ellen Hudson, Beks, Critty, Tiff, Alison or Caro. No more Nayns, Lexi Coco, Kory, Sam, Bethany, or Colten. No more Emma, Kristina, Cassie, Diana, Beckah, Nash or Riley. No more Nickolas.

I know the only way I can possibly handle this well is with the Lord, and I don’t doubt Him or His plan for my life for a second. I truly believe that I was meant to be in Africa for such a time as this, and I am meant to come home for such a time as this. I was meant to live for such a time as this, and to never stop praying for the Lord to fill me up and send me out. I am fully equipped, in every moment, to do and be whatever He wants me to do, and I know He speaks through me. I know I’m an encourager. I know He speaks to me. I know I’m coming back with almost no physical possessions but a few clothes, a bible completely read and written in cover to cover and in, now, 20 pieces, and a pack full of undeserved blessings. I know there’s power in the name of Jesus, enough to break every chain, to save 150 people in one night, and heal malaria. I also know that I’m fully human, I’m a completely hyper-emotional being, and I know that I’m absolutely, 100% scared as hell.

97…98…99….100….

Ready or not, here I come….