Autumn in America—difficult beginnings

                I have been horrible about writing this past week. It’s mostly been because I have no idea where to start.

 I can’t believe I’ve been home, back in Seattle, for 12 days. It has been a rollercoaster. Some hours have felt like the beginning of the ride—I’m getting strapped in, ready for a new adventure back the States, and especially when reunited with family and friends, while others—especially the morning hours, are like the drop after a hill—terrifying and causing your stomach to leap into your throat because of the unfamiliar. Then there’s the crazy circles, when you don’t know what to feel or think—you just have to ride them out. This week has been just like that.

 

I have been blessed to have a warm welcome here—including at surprise 25^th/welcome home party from my church small group. But these 12 days have not been easy. I didn’t realize how much I had changed—how materialism was going to affect me—with disgust and contempt for the “meccas” shopping malls are. I also didn’t realize how much I would miss Kenya…miss my “Kenya family” as well as the precious kids I got used to seeing 5 days a week. I even miss the 5ish miles of daily walking. 

Don’t get me wrong—I know I am supposed to be here…and there have been many joys--a trip to portland, happy hour conversations, hugs from people I missed while in Kenya, and sunny Seattle days. Autumn is hands down my favorite season—the crisp air, rainbow of leaves, and cozy clothes and food—it’s just been crazy to try and process so many things—Kibera, things that have changed here,  North American materialism, the death of my friend, and, most recently, the shocking death of my cousin on Sunday. It is hard to not feel overwhelmed, like I can’t catch up.

 

But I am so blessed. I have a wonderful circle of friends here who have helped me process, let me talk, and some have articulated their own experiences of the “reverse culture shock” entering back into life in North America brings. Several people have reminded the “future oriented” me to take it one day at a time, to start right where I’m at (overwhelmed, sad, and “swimming”), and to trust that my Heavenly daddy doesn’t expect me to figure this out, to sort everything out on my own. He walks with me (and talks with me, and tells me I am his own). As I inhale the crisp air, turn towards the sun, and intentionally stomp on crunchy leaves, I know that I will work through this. I will learn what he prompts and be quieted by his love (Zephaniah 3:17). I can take this transition time one day, one hour at a time.