quick thoughts on the one month mark

I leave Nicaragua one month exactly from today. A couple of things that have been on my mind:

1)   I imagine myself looking into the face of my mom, feeling her skinny arms wrap around me, and having the deep sense inside of myself that life is right.  I feel it sitting here, now, in a café in Managua. It feels familiar and for a moment, I feel safe. Amidst the pain and the hurt, good people exist in this world. I feel it for myself, but the nagging voice inside of me wonders if all people have this sliver of hope to grasp onto when they are fearful or hurting. Here I am thinking of my homecoming, my sweet mother, and the out-of-body experience I will have when walking through my garage and realizing that these 5 months really did occur, I wasn’t dreaming, and I am different. But, what about the people that I carry inside of me? What do they feel? Do the girls at House of Hope feel loved by a momma? Do they know that through it all, people can learn to love? I do believe this particular part of me will never be the same. I house the hurt that I have seen and heard, and I will never be able to deafen my ears to it. In some ways, that frightens me, makes me feel sad and alone. But, more than that, it makes me want to fight. It compels me to take action, to use their stories as impetus to rise up and say NO to all the injustice in this world. And though I am one person, I am one more person that God is sending out into battle, one more torch set ablaze to bring light and expel the darkness. The reality: I have seen, and I am responsible now.

2)    I wrote a piece last year about the idea of hope, otherness, loss and love. As I was reading through it again, it occurred to me: I will arrive a stranger when I return home. A particular quote comes to mind: “It’s a funny thing ‘bout coming home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels smells the same. Ya realized what’s changed…is you” (Benjamin Button). I must admit: I do feel apprehension to confront my life back home. Though I have spent 20 years growing up in one place, so many things will be new to me in that place. Just to name a few: walking into a cool building, putting my trash in a receptacle, going to a private market, driving a car, feeling hot water, eating things other than rice & beans (ha!), using a dollar bill, paying more than $2 for a meal, having access to a printer, streets without stray dogs, not smelling burnt trash, actually being on time, the absence of street venders, and lastly—the unawareness that comes from living in abundance. I fear that. To put it into words: I am so sheltered from the poverty that exists everywhere around me, whether that poverty is spiritual, physical etc. There is something rich about seeing and feeling a lack every single day, about walking into a place where people are wearing shirts that have holes and stains down the front, about being with people that aren’t addicted to their cell phones because they don’t own one, people that wash their clothes in a sink, people that unplug their fans during the day to cut their electric bill, people that cook 3 meals a day in house, people that are grateful for the gift of life: the pure, sensory, nothing added, experiential life. Do not misunderstand me: I am by no means glorifying the poor or hating on the rich. However, I am agreeing with this truth: Jesus blesses the poor. I was reading the story of the fisherman that dropped their nets to follow Jesus when he called out to them. A thought occurred to me: those fishermen dropped their nets easily because they had nothing to lose. The emptier our hands, the easier it is to let go of that net and follow. When I empty myself, I leave room to be filled to capacity. I hope I don’t lose that awareness when I return because I do believe, despite physical circumstances, one can carry that truth at all times. It is the revelation that none of the exteriors really matter. It is the belief that we are all the same, that if hearts could be measured numerically, we would all be roaming the streets like beggars, all together in heaps and heaps really really feeling it: having the knowledge that we lack so much on the inside despite what the outside may look like.


For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.