{Please, before you read this post, make sure you've read my previous post here which talks about my time and emotions in Honduras more specifically}
For those of you who knew or guessed at the depths of my emotional state in Honduras, and now for those of you on the world wide web who know from my last blog post, you have thought and/or are thinking that I now have my happily-ever-after, Cinderella ending. Honduras is in the past now, and I'm back in the States with all the conveniences and comforts of home and small, private, Christian education. The answer to that is yes and no.
Yes, I'm back in the States and a huge weight has come off my shoulders. I feel like myself again, thank God. But it's not that easy.
Re-entry, the transition back into the States for expats, is rumored to be just as difficult as the culture shock of going to a new place. (See here and here for more info on re-entry). Because I was only an expat for a relatively short time, and because I had such a hard time abroad, I thought I'd have an easy transition home. As I settle in, though, it's becoming clear to me that it will be far more complex and messy than I expected.
Culture shock is present for me in ways that are easy to point to and understand.
It's present in humorous ways, like when people on an elevator complain about being too cramped together, while I laugh because I feel like I have plenty of space because no one's sweaty armpit is in my face and it's only a 2 minute elevator ride and not a 5 hour bus ride.
It's present in a completely overwhelming sense of choice at the size of a gas station.
It's present in the way my brain shuts down a little when I hear too many voices speaking in English around me.
It's present in a renewed sense of wonder and joy in the little things, like having a kitchen sink with two sides and hot water to wash my dishes.
It's present in the guilt of my own participation in American materialism when I open my closet and burst into tears because of the sheer size of the closet and the amount of clothes I have.
It's present in the frustration of the settled complacency of life here (myself included).
It's present in my sense of annoyance that I have to depend on my car now, rather than being able to walk everywhere I want or need to go.
It's also present in ways that I can't easily point to or explain.
It's present in the struggle to understand and give meaning to what has happened.
It's present in the nights I can't fall asleep because my mind is going 120 mph chewing over the past.
It's present in a sense of loss or grief that I can't understand, on a beautiful summer evening in which I feel nothing but content, but inexplicably begin crying and can't stop for a long while.
So what I'm trying to say to my family and friends is that America is not the source of my hope or healing. The world is not black and white. There were moments of true joy in Honduras just as there are moments of deep grief in the States.
My hope does not come from a place. Rather, it comes from faith in a God who promises to work all things to my good and who has said that in Christ my labor is not in vain (Rom. 8; I Cor. 15). It comes from the joy of a Savior who came not only to forgive and fix my personal brokenness, but also to fix the brokenness of the world around me. Romans 8: 20-25 says that creation itself is subject to futility, and groans with us for redemption. Revelation 21-22 speaks of the hope of the new heavens and the new earth, when Christ will have made all things new ...including flawed educational systems and vicious cycles of poverty and injustice based on race and class found in Honduras, the States, and throughout the world.
And so, to end this post, all I can say is come Lord Jesus, come quickly!
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