I Came Back Changed

Noah and I are settling back into (our) reality after spending some time on a missions trip in Jamaica recently.  He compartmentalizes better than I do.  I'm really not good at this.  Coming back to first world problems has been a bit of um, a, well--It's been quite an adjustment for me.  Caught in a coffee shop the other day, listening in on various conversations, watching numerous people interact, I wanted to yell, "Do you really think these are problems???  YOU DO NOT KNOW PROBLEMS!"  Noah, bless him, knowing me so well, and sensing what was going on in my head, reached over and grabbed my hand.  We both knew I needed to get out of there, and FAST.  It's as if nothing this side of the U.S. border truly matters.

I'm not adjusting well.

I can't unsee everything I saw.  I can't unhear what I heard.  I can't unfeel what I felt, or what I'm still feeling.  I can't uncry all my tears, and I can't stop the tears that are still coming.  The stories spin in my head, I see the kids in my sleep, I can't relate any of what we did, any of what happened, without tears.  Some of these tears are happy, some of them are just--yeah, that. 

I like control--feeling in control, being in control--and none of this is any of that.


I am a sensitive person, a crier to begin with, and I don't hide it.  I feel things deeply.  I tend to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.  Once I add in the weight of everything I learned about those 26 beautiful orphans, everything they need, and everything I was able to give them (emotionally and spiritually, and not nearly enough of any of it) while I was there and everything they gave me in return (so much more than I could hope to give them), I'm walking quite bent over from the load I bear.  My shoulders are weary, my load is heavy.  Oh Abba, my load is oh, so heavy.

I didn't come back normal.  I didn't come back who I was before.  I came back changed. I am different.

How can something be traumatic yet still be so absolutely incredibly amazing at the same time?  How can my heart be so over-flowingly full, yet be devastatingly shattered at the same time?  And I'm absolutely ready to go back.  Let's do this again!  Let's go make a difference! 

It's been emotionally, as well as physically, painful for me.  As I fight the emotional pain, the physical pain courses through my body, excruciatingly painful.  But, this is par for the course.  Let's go back!

I came back ready to argue with strangers about their first world problems.  Those aren't problems!  Let me tell you about problems!

I came back wrestling with guilt and fear and inner demons.  All works of the enemy.

This trip was the culmination of 22 years of prayer for me. I started praying for these children 22 years ago, even before I was saved, before I really truly believed God would make it possible, even before I knew it would be these children in particular.  In college, I researched gap years because I needed a break.  I was burnt out, and wanted/needed to take a break from school and figured something akin to PeaceCorps or AmeriCorps would be a good idea, especially with my majors and minor, but due to my mental health issues, none of the programs would take me.  When our family moved to this church almost five years ago, I was thrilled to learn this is a mission-heavy church.  I was so ready to sign up for each trip that came across my path, just ready to jump in feet first!  Each time though, we hoped we were pregnant, only to find out later we weren't.  I know now (hindsight!) that God was saving me for this trip.  So, it’s always been there, an idea, a prayer, on the back burner, a maybe, a “please God, let this happen,”—and finally, God made it happen this year! Because I waited 22 years, I was able to honestly tell these children that I genuinely love them, and mean it from the bottom of my heart.   I not only had God's love within me, but also that authentic, unconditional love that God grew in my heart for these children, much in the way He begins to grow parental love the moment we realize we are meant to be parents, even before He plants children in our wombs, or children of our hearts into our empty arms. Those whole two hours up the mountain to the orphanage, I sat forward in my seat, just dying for that first peek at the orphanage, for that first peek at these kids I’ve been waiting to meet for 22 years.  I was positively giddy!  God *finally* made the way for me to spend 3 1/4 glorious days with them! And then I had to leave them. 

I knew from the moment we arrived at the orphanage that I had found my second home, my calling, second only to motherhood, and I'm ready to go back at a moment's notice.  I fell in love with the country, and the people in general.  I fell in love with this orphanage, these children, and these caretakers in particular.  I am their torch-bearer until God decides differently. I loved every minute, every second of being there.  I feel caught between two worlds.  I would not have changed anything about it--it was exactly as God meant it, and we fought back mightily when the enemy tried to worm his evil way in.  Oh, how I love these kids and cherish my time with them.  Each one of them has something just so special and endearing about him and her.  

It is my firm belief that everyone deserves prayer said with them and over them, everyone deserves to have tears shed for them, and to have someone laugh with them. Everyone deserves to have someone celebrate with them and mourn with them and everyone deserves to have their hand held in life. Every child deserves to be tucked in with a kiss and a prayer.  Everyone deserves the chance to be saved by love.  These are some of the many reasons I went to Jamaica.  There are times life isn't so fair, and it's during these times God uses us as His hands and feet to make life just a little bit fairer.