A Lesson in Peace

I bought my tickets for Senegal back in March.  Initially I was beyond thrilled to go back and see people.  But as the trip grew closer, something odd happened.  Anxiety reared its ugly head in my heart.  There was a whole list of things I started worrying about.

What if the food or water makes me sick because I'm not used to it anymore?
What if I make a lot of cultural blunders and just feel hopelessly out of place?
What if I've forgotten a lot of French and communicating is a struggle?
What if Theo doesn't remember me [he was not quite 1 year old when I left]?
What if leaving them again is too hard?
What if, when I come back to "normal life" here, it's hard to get into the swing of things and the whole summer just feels funky?

And probably the biggest fear I had -

What if it's too difficult and painful to be reminded of the life and ministry I'd said goodbye to?

I was telling one of my coworkers about it, and she suggested that going back might give me some kind of closure.  I wasn't sure; I really had no idea what to expect.  But fear hung over me and by the time I left, I was one big ball of nerves wondering, "What am I doing?  Why in the world did I think it would be a good idea to go back?"

It wasn't like I could back out of it then, so I gulped hard and got on the plane.

Hours later we touched down.  As we spilled onto the tarmac in the early-morning darkness, the familiar scent of fish, the ocean, and sweat greeted me.

There was no overwhelming flood of memories or emotions.  The air, the traffic, the buildings, the people - it all felt so ordinary and everyday.  Like I'd been there only the week before.  Like I'd never packed up and said goodbye.

Julien picked me up and we got back to the house around 6:00am.  Angèle was up to say hi, and then they told me, "We're going back to bed.  Just go to sleep and don't worry about the time.  You need to rest after your trip."

I laid down and closed my eyes although I was sure I wouldn't sleep.

Peace washed over me as I thought back over the past year-and-a-half: This whole thing is God's story.  This is how He's led me.  He led me here to Senegal for two years, He led me back to the States, and where I am right now - serving at the Bible Institute - is exactly where He wants me to be.  This has all been part of His plan, even though I haven't always been able to see clearly around the next bend.

The next two weeks looked very different than I'd been picturing only hours before.

I never got sick.
I didn't feel out of place.
Language and culture came back quickly, although perhaps a few spots were a bit rusty.
Theo was attached (quite literally) to me from the first morning and threw a fit anytime I left.

I didn't feel pressure to notice or take in everything.  I saw life through everyday eyes, not through the eyes of the overwhelmed newcomer nor of the girl facing a difficult goodbye.

Honestly, there aren't many stories to tell.  There weren't any really big moments.  There weren't any pictures.  It was all so ordinary, so natural, so delightfully mundane.  Laundry hung to dry in the courtyard.  The kids got into trouble and we scolded them.  I ate rice - heap after delicious heap of rice.  We walked to the boutique and our feet got predictably sandy.

And I can't tell you how grateful I am that it was this way.

One day when we were out, I looked around and found myself thinking, "Yes, I still love West Africa.  I suppose I always will.  But I know where God wants me right now."  It was a long time in coming, but at last I reached the point where I fully realized there was nowhere else in this world I wanted to be.  My heart no longer felt pulled between two places the way it had before. 

Goodbyes, when it was finally time for them, didn't sting the way I expected they would.  Who knows if I'll go back for another visit someday?  I'd like to, but I'm also okay with it if God doesn't provide that opportunity.

I flew home and friends were waiting to welcome me back (with dinner and Downton Abbey).  My suitcases were all unpacked that evening.  By the time I climbed into bed, I was sufficiently exhausted to sleep through the night, wake up the next morning and go into work without the slightest hint of jetlag.

So closure?  I'm not exactly sure that's the word for it.  But God's peace has done its work in my heart and I'm thankful.  Thankful for those two years I spent in Senegal.  Thankful for how He led me to NTBI.  Thankful that this place is home and that He is with me, no matter what the future holds.