Exactly one year ago I was on a plane from Nairobi heading to Amsterdam after 90 days that changed my life. It was the “end” of a life-long dream that had finally (well, finally in my eyes) come true. I was so full and hurt “so good” to have lived the last 90 days. Truthfully, I didn’t want to leave—because who wants to fly away from their dreams, their passions, their calling. It seems a little extreme—but that’s how I felt—like I was leaving where I was supposed to be.
Today, I know that this year was purposeful-so painfully purposeful. When I was in Kenya I had written that it was going to be a “desert season”—but I didn’t realize that would extend into my life in spiritual ways too. One of the hardest aspects of the last 365 days has been the rebuilding of my faith. A faith that was angry—angry at poverty, at the AIDS epidemic, the existence of cancer that rips apart families and friends—and angered that I was “leaving the dream”. The first month back was full of loss—my cousin, a precious girl from the school in Kibera—and the following months also seemed so full of tears and death. At times I believed the lie that if this is the world that God supposedly loves then how much could he really “love” the world that suffers so much—I forgot that the way he chose to save it was through suffering and death. At the time it seemed to make more sense to just ignore the nudges to trust—I wanted answers and relief, not painful silence in response to my questions. As the year wore on I muddled through the tasks in front of me—work, a new job, again living at home to save money.
This last year was so full of looking back that I forgot to look ahead. In futile attempts to keep the “missionary high” I desperately tried to relive it—spending my days thinking about the kids, the friends I made, the experiences I had. But slowly, I began to look ahead—to look forward to work every day, to take the necessary steps to move into grad school, and to try and get connected—in a “fake it til you make it” sort of way.
Today, I realize that I will never really lose the “dream of Kenya”. It has an irrevocable presence in my heart—from the childhood dream of skipping with children on a red dirt road, to the memories and names of children I carry with me—it is a country and people that are part of my story. As I stare at an intense 10 months of school ahead—I am driven not by the desire for better pay, more knowledge, a “step up the ladder”—but driven by the dream that has shaped most of my life.
Now, as I look back on the realized dream, I look head in light of the lessons learned and the children that inspired me. I look back on the joy I felt—the joy of knowing that you are exactly where you’re supposed to be, with the people divinely placed in your life for that day, those three months—and daily remind myself that the same is true today. I look back at the pictures of Precious, Ellie, Sylvester, Elizabeth, Edwin, Ashlynn, Clay, Naomy, and Austin and know that the children I teach today are just as important. I look back at the tedious parts of the dream—the exhaustion, the paperwork, the money woes, the sick days—and know that this next season will be full of the same—but when I look back on this coming year those aspects will fade in light of what I will have gained, just like they did with Kenya.
So today, I am comforted that I’m not being called to forget the dream—I’m called to be driven by it. I don’t have to “move on” by forgetting or denying the impact it has but I move forward because of the changes it’s made in me. I move forward into this year propelled by the faces I remember and the people who are in my life today. I move forward knowing that this is just another “part of the dream” and calling in my life.
