Thoughts on Coming Home

I haven’t written recently partly because I’ve been busy researching how to start up a local newspaper for the community and partly because I would rather watch an old episode of Doug with Jacqueline or play with the kittens, letting them mew and cling to my sweater. But I woke up at 6:00 A.M. with the morning still and untouched except by yellow light and I had nothing else to do because the Internet was out.  So now I’m sitting in the top of my bunk bed (Lauren moved in to my room when the new intern, Jacqueline came), stretching my toes in their wool socks, and thinking of how to tell you all that’s been going on with my life in the past couple weeks.

Yesterday in our meeting, Lindsey asked me if, with three weeks to go, if I felt ready to go home.  I have asked myself this same question every so often in the past two months and it’s usually the same wishy-washy, “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”  I came into this internship envisioning a place that was perhaps a little warmer and myself, in a pair of shorts, within some grand adventure.  Although my time here has panned out differently than I would have expected, it has been fulfilling in that it has challenged and humbled me.  When I think of being dropped off at the airport to go home, my heart lifts inside my chest in excitement at the thought of home and comfort and food other than beans, and then sinks in something that feels like terror at the thought of leaving these friends behind.

I hate thinking that soon, I won’t wake up in the same room as Lauren or hear Jacqueline blow-drying her body (yes, it’s that cold.)  I hate knowing that I won’t be able to throw my arm around Daniela, and worse, that I might never see her or some of the other students again.  These people – interns, staff, students, and neighbors – have shown me an incredible love.  I hope that I can come back some day to visit and see how much Fabian’s English has improved and how tall Nadia has grown to be and how the community, too, has grown.

Looking back on leaving Ecuador, I was sad to leave several very dear American friends and a lifestyle of travel, independence, and adventure.  This time, I will still leave friends, but I will also leave behind a community of people, from Pastor Carlos who plays a mean bass, to the shy little girl in Sunday school who never says much to me but insists on holding my hand.  I don’t know what else to say about these people or how to describe their goodness so I’ll just say this: they have been Christ to me and Christ to each other.  I can think of no higher compliment.

Since I’m on a sentimental sort of track, I want to say thank you to everyone has prayed for me or wished me well.  It has been an adventure, a very different sort than I ever thought, but one that will bring me home full and reflective and, maybe more than anything, grateful.  You all have done more than enough for me but I have one more request.  I ask that you pray that I have the strength to work hard and enjoy these last couple weeks to their utmost.  And please lift up the people of Vara Blanca and San Rafael, some of the strongest, most encouraging, lively folks I have known.  Thank you so much, friends!