The Last leg...
I am already depressed. It happens near the end of every summer and especially after big trips. It’s most likely a combination of exhaustion and fear. Exhaustion because I have spent 2 months living out of a suitcase. For two months I have not unpacked a suitcase only replaced one set of clothing for another. Fear because I know nothing will be different when I return and yet everything will be different when I return. Some teens I will continue to see on a weekly basis, some teens will move on to college and school and I will now only see them during school breaks and at weddings and funerals. They forever hold a place in my heart but after they leave I rarely see them anymore. My job done, they go on to become everything we have prepared them to become. I am also depressed because I have been working on this trip for so long that I do not know how the void will be filled when I return. I started working on this trip on Jan 10, 2008 roughly 17 months ago. What I will do now that it is over, I do not know.
For months I have been pushing the Africa team to prepare themselves for the “return let down” Pray through it, I have told them. Be aware of your feelings, pray constantly, and be open about your inevitable struggle to reconcile what you have seen, heard, and done with what your life in Texas is. I prepped them, I prayed for them, I warned them…but it’s me who is struggling. I expected and prepared for everything on this trip. I poured over the details for months carefully choosing routes, flights, hotels, meals and supplies. All in a vain attempt to make sure the outcome was what I thought it should be. For weeks before the trip I slept little, arose early and worked countless hours trying my hardest to plan and replan for every possible detail, yet you can never prepare for everything, especially for what God wants to do. It may even seem that the more you prepare for God the more he may surprise you.
The trip seems like a blur at this point, some long fading dream on the cusp of daylight, vivid and alive during the night but slowly fading in the dawn of light. As I struggle to come out of this slumber my thoughts are scattered and dull. I think of the blinding days leading up to the trip with little sleep as the heavy dull of responsibility pressed on my conscience and sub consistence. I think of the countless emails and phone calls to the airline fighting and squabbling over last minute details. I think of the excitement and joy on the teens faces as we flew into the unknown. I think of their first joy of reaching Africa as I welcomed the team with all the pride I had on my heart. “Welcome to Africa” I told them with a mischievous smile. I think of songs of joy and grace in inaudible tones of unknown languages but understood by all who hear. And my heart remembers the hard times as well. I think of standing on a crowded road outside Londani helplessly watching someone die, then having to look into the faces of young teens that for the first time saw the reality of a broken world when they are so far from home. I think of the early African mornings and late Africa nights checking and triple checking to make sure everyone and everything was prepared for the challenges of a new day, and I think of the countless hours of driving.
Most of all my heart remembers a conversation late into the night that would change my life. There have been three such conversations in my life. Benchmarks, I call them, holy places where I can trace with great accuracy God’s voice, God’s light, and God’s wisdom calling me to a greater awareness, forever changing my life from what I was into what I shall become. The moments are frail and impossible to grasp with pure reason. As soon as you try to wrap your fingers around them and hold them tight and force them to become yours they vanish into the unknown like smoke. From long locked away chambers of my repressed heart I thank you, you know who you are.
It would seem that hidden in this Africa trip are a million tiny benchmarks. Each person on the trip had conversations, experiences and moments that changed their life or at least changed life as they knew it. For me it was an unexpected late night conversation, for others it was a hug from an African child, or a meal prepared from someone who is starving, for some a dead body on a lonely road, or maybe a gift from a passerby, for some the inexplicable joy of an orphan child, or perhaps the happiness we found in an unhappy city. All of us have our “moment”, a holy place, a holy time, a holy voice, a holy experience given to each of us by the great God above, individually prepared and delivered by holy messengers. Proof we are loved by a mysterious and complex creator who deeply wants to show himself to us. In my slumber of business I guess I had forgotten that. I had forgotten that God is calling me with his voice, calling me to something deep, something wide, and something complex.
As we fly over the Atlantic Ocean headed home I am depressed… but hopeful. The God who led me into this African journey 17 months ago will lead me out of Africa when I return home. My prayer is that he will do the same for every man and women on this trip, that God will lead them out of Africa. My prayer is that God will lead them out of Africa with hope, out of Africa with joy, out of Africa with confidence, out of Africa with….
A voice.
“A voice calling out in the wilderness” of our so called lives as we once knew them.
For months I have been pushing the Africa team to prepare themselves for the “return let down” Pray through it, I have told them. Be aware of your feelings, pray constantly, and be open about your inevitable struggle to reconcile what you have seen, heard, and done with what your life in Texas is. I prepped them, I prayed for them, I warned them…but it’s me who is struggling. I expected and prepared for everything on this trip. I poured over the details for months carefully choosing routes, flights, hotels, meals and supplies. All in a vain attempt to make sure the outcome was what I thought it should be. For weeks before the trip I slept little, arose early and worked countless hours trying my hardest to plan and replan for every possible detail, yet you can never prepare for everything, especially for what God wants to do. It may even seem that the more you prepare for God the more he may surprise you.
The trip seems like a blur at this point, some long fading dream on the cusp of daylight, vivid and alive during the night but slowly fading in the dawn of light. As I struggle to come out of this slumber my thoughts are scattered and dull. I think of the blinding days leading up to the trip with little sleep as the heavy dull of responsibility pressed on my conscience and sub consistence. I think of the countless emails and phone calls to the airline fighting and squabbling over last minute details. I think of the excitement and joy on the teens faces as we flew into the unknown. I think of their first joy of reaching Africa as I welcomed the team with all the pride I had on my heart. “Welcome to Africa” I told them with a mischievous smile. I think of songs of joy and grace in inaudible tones of unknown languages but understood by all who hear. And my heart remembers the hard times as well. I think of standing on a crowded road outside Londani helplessly watching someone die, then having to look into the faces of young teens that for the first time saw the reality of a broken world when they are so far from home. I think of the early African mornings and late Africa nights checking and triple checking to make sure everyone and everything was prepared for the challenges of a new day, and I think of the countless hours of driving.
Most of all my heart remembers a conversation late into the night that would change my life. There have been three such conversations in my life. Benchmarks, I call them, holy places where I can trace with great accuracy God’s voice, God’s light, and God’s wisdom calling me to a greater awareness, forever changing my life from what I was into what I shall become. The moments are frail and impossible to grasp with pure reason. As soon as you try to wrap your fingers around them and hold them tight and force them to become yours they vanish into the unknown like smoke. From long locked away chambers of my repressed heart I thank you, you know who you are.
It would seem that hidden in this Africa trip are a million tiny benchmarks. Each person on the trip had conversations, experiences and moments that changed their life or at least changed life as they knew it. For me it was an unexpected late night conversation, for others it was a hug from an African child, or a meal prepared from someone who is starving, for some a dead body on a lonely road, or maybe a gift from a passerby, for some the inexplicable joy of an orphan child, or perhaps the happiness we found in an unhappy city. All of us have our “moment”, a holy place, a holy time, a holy voice, a holy experience given to each of us by the great God above, individually prepared and delivered by holy messengers. Proof we are loved by a mysterious and complex creator who deeply wants to show himself to us. In my slumber of business I guess I had forgotten that. I had forgotten that God is calling me with his voice, calling me to something deep, something wide, and something complex.
As we fly over the Atlantic Ocean headed home I am depressed… but hopeful. The God who led me into this African journey 17 months ago will lead me out of Africa when I return home. My prayer is that he will do the same for every man and women on this trip, that God will lead them out of Africa. My prayer is that God will lead them out of Africa with hope, out of Africa with joy, out of Africa with confidence, out of Africa with….
A voice.
“A voice calling out in the wilderness” of our so called lives as we once knew them.
posted by Paul at Tuesday, July 28, 2009
4 Comments:
Thanks you so much for returning my little girl safe and oh, so much wiser. I know you changed her life.
Thanks you so much for returning my little girl safe and oh, so much wiser. I know you changed her life.
Wow! Really missing everyone today. So weird to get up and not need to be somewhere today. Thoughts still jumbled somewhat in my head. Maybe soon I can sit and really dig through them. Thanks, Paul, for all the hard work. It was a success in so many ways.
I always knew you were special, that's why I'm so proud of you.
You'll continue to do God's work.
Uncle Chuck
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