I’m back. I’ve been back for almost three days now.
And in some ways, nothing has changed. My bedroom is the same. My street is the same. Two days after I returned, I went back to work at the day camp I’ve spent the past five summers at.
But everything has changed. I’ve changed. I’ve been changed.
And I want to hold onto that change. I want to be the changed me.
It’s so easy, though, to slip right back into my old life. To find myself wasting hours on Facebook and leaving my Bible sitting beside me. To find myself wanting more things and forgetting to be grateful, to be content. To be caught up in concern about tomorrow and the day after and the rest of my life instead of turning it all over to the Lord.
Being home is good. hard. challenging, in a very different way from how Africa was challenging. I feel like a mess of conflicted emotions right now and I love it and I hate it and the past month was just so full of everything that I can barely process it and mainly all I want to do is get on a plane and fly back to Kenya.
back to where I had three skirts to choose from.
back to where I had internet once a week.
back to where I had a team that challenged me, loved me, encouraged me, pushed me towards God 24/7.
back to where I was faced with the desperate need for God daily.
back to where little hands held mine and little faces smiled into mine.
My heart aches for Kenya.
And maybe someday, I’ll be back. I hope and pray that I’ll be back, that God will bring that African red dirt back under my Chaco-clad feet one day.
But it’s not right now, and I want it to be. I know that I’m here for a reason. I know that I need to be here, and be back at school in two weeks. I know that for this season, God has put me here.
So I’m struggling to be content. Fighting for the closeness with the Lord I had in Kenya. Fighting to hold onto the change in my heart, to hold onto all that I learned and experienced.
No one told me that coming home was the hardest part.