hOmE

It feels strangely normal to be home. Life quickly falls back into a rhythm with people and a place you’re used to.

Mount Carroll is such a safe haven. I know some will probably giggle at this because it’s like I’m only now realizing the small, secure, slow pace of the pueblito I’ve recounted countless country-bumpkin stories of. But it’s proven to be thee mejor lugar in which my little heart can heal, adjust and process.

It’s all so gentle. 

If I don’t want to see anyone, I can hole up in this old brick house for three days and not leave. I can sit and stare out the window for an hour and only see two cars drive by and one woman with four dogs bustle past without feeling like I should be out there doing something. The streets and houses, my old running routes, where I find Jesus; it’s all familiar. And it’s slowly – oh so gently – easing me into this life again.

It feels right (and it's where the coffeepot is always hot).

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I’m finding it difficult to answer the big questions people politely, curiously ask me.

I think it’s because what I lived was so much more than a mission trip. It was my life. 

I went to rural Honduras, experienced the uncomfortableness of adjusting and learning, and then one day I was living it as my every day. I fell in love with the people, the food, the slow way of cooking a meal. I wasn’t ever sure when I’d be home again (it sounds dramatic, but that sort of was how the year went). I got used to killing bugs with my bare hand and expecting the unexpected. What was foreign became my normal. I cleaned, lived, spoke, worked differently than I had for my first 25 years.

And although it was only just 16 months of my life – a small, small sliver of what I know and who I am – it mattered.

I’m not really sure what that means or what I mean when I say that. Processing and healing is happening slowly. For right now I’m simply seeing myself through the next day that dawns. I ask only for the graces to get through the day. Nothing more, nothing less.

I have zero plans and am trusting that as the Lord has shown me, especially during my time as missionary, that He has it under control.

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Reverse culture shock is a real thing. You think it won’t really affect you, but then it does.

I find myself weepy over the amount of food I have available or how quick we are to waste. I’ve cried over feeling guilty about being in a safe, comfortable bed while people I know are wet and cold because of house damage from the hurricanes. I’m quickly overwhelmed by life and conversation and simple daily decisions.

I have so many feelings I still can’t concisely articulate and it weighs me down.

But, here I am. In my beloved childhood home. Drinking hot drinks with my mom. Spending afternoons chatting with my dad. Asking my brother for help in how to use appliances. Receiving “hugs” from Sadie. And soaking in sweet moments with my tall, handsome fella.

My heart is here, waiting to be broken open to whatever is in store. I just have to be patient. And let myself cry.

Just like my feet are slowly healing from rashes and itchy bug bites that remind me where I recently came from, I know inner healing will come too.  

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I do miss my friends (hi guys). They were my hardest goodbye.

Which makes sense because they were my familia. Who knew my everyday reality. Who knew how to clean a pila. Who understood me without explanation when I used Spanglish. Who walked with me through the weirdest, hardest days of Honduras, and always celebrated little victories with espresso choco chip helado.

I don’t think I realized the deep importance each person in my little community meant to me until I was hugging them goodbye. They held me together so I could survive and (occasionally) thrive.

Each of you already knows how much you mean to me (if you don't believe me, Ryan can attest to the straight hour I cried in the busito after saying goodbye), but it’s worth it to say one more time. Les quiero mucho. Pero muuuucho.

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Ohhh there are really good parts about being back in the states. I have access to basically anything I want to eat (vegetables are just as good as I remember). I don’t have to run only in circles for exercise. There’s hot water. I can drink wine when I have a hunkering. And I get to spend time catching up with people I’ve missed every single day for the past 16 months. :)

I've been floored by the number of people who care about little ole me. To each of my family members and friends who’ve reached out to me, sent me letters and gifts, and love. I feel so honored to have such an attentive extended community. Thank you for supporting me, for praying for me, for cheering me on in this mission. I couldn’t have done it without you.

A mis padres y hermanito. The three of you are my team. I’ll never be able to fully repay you for welcoming me home with all the comforts (and more) of life, for letting me be snappy and sad, for listening to me whenever I want to share about Honduras. I promise you’ll catch on to lip pointing and being summoned with a scoop of the hand. Thank you for loving me well and stopping before pushing me too far. I love each of you un monton.

Oh yes, Mr. Levi Jones. The man who’s been so faithfully waiting for me to step foot off the airplane. I know how excited you are for me to be in-real-time with you. As the other person in this party for two, I wholeheartedly attest to the greatness.

The best part of being home is you. I can’t thank you enough for showing up for me, for following along with my ping-pong thoughts and Honduras stories, for not skipping a beat and trying your best to understand when I use Spanish words/phrases, for making me laugh and making things so easy. There is no one else I’d want to help me regain my alcohol tolerance (whoops), make food with (he’s definitely the better chef out of the two of us), and just say yes to normal life stuff with. 

Thank you for meeting me where I’m at. Each and every day. For your patience, trust, Midwestern goodness and childlike heart, I praise Jesus. My coming home would be much heavier and bien bien duro without you. Te quiero mas que puedo expresar.

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I feel like I have a lot more I could share. But at this point I don’t know that I'm mentally/emotionally capabale. So we wait. Will you wait with me?

I have decided to log off of social media for a while. I’ll probably still post here, but being inundated with a social newsfeed just isn’t what my little heart needs. So I’m saying adios for now.

If you need to reach me, I recommend old fashioned snail-mail. Como siempre. 

Paz y bien, amigos.