Whew! It’s been awhile since I blogged, seven years actually. I’ve come to this page a few times over the years to give an update on our life since returning to the states, but it was too hard.
I used to think that selling everything we owned, totally giving our lives to God, and moving our family to the other side of the world the was the most difficult thing God could ask us to do. But I was wrong. Leaving the mission field and returning to the states was even harder to do!
How could coming back to a place with all the modern conveniences, to a place where I knew the language, and to a place where my family and friends were be harder than leaving in the first place? Simple—I changed. Missions changed me. God changed me. I didn’t know it at first. I still felt like me. I still looked like me. But my way of thinking had changed, and mostly importantly, my heart had been transformed.
I remember the first time I decided to treat myself to a Sonic coke after returning from the Philippines. I was out running errands alone on a rare occasion and realized it was Happy Hour at Sonic which meant half price drinks. Without thinking, I pulled in and ordered and just as I pulled out my dollar to pay, the faces of the poor that came to our gate in the Philippines for rice popped into my head. And without even thinking my brain calculated that the cost of that treat was equal to two kilos of rice, enough to feed a family a few meals. I pulled over and balled. This would happen anytime I would go to the grocery store, to get gas, basically buy anything. My brain would immediately turn dollars into pesos and pesos into kilos of rice. And each time my heart would break.
Weeks later, I went to have Sunday lunch with my extended family after Mass, something that had loved doing since my childhood. I had always looked forward to Sunday dinner with family and loved that we had kept the tradition going for the next generation of kids. But that Sunday was different. As I watched the enormous amounts of food we had to eat, I thought of all the people we left behind who may not have anything to feed their family that day. My heart ached so much, I could barely eat even though my favorite foods were in front of me. My heart shattered even more as I watched plate after plate of uneaten food be scraped into the trash can. All I could think of was the hungry kids that I had left behind who probably weren’t going to be eating that day. And here we had wasted enough food to feed a family for a week.
This kind of thinking slowly overtook my life. I could not enjoy any of the “luxuries” I should have been ecstatic to have back—-air conditioning, hot water, a washing machine & dryer, an oven, my comfortable bed, etc. All I could think of were the moms that I had met, who had become my friends, who were still cooking over an open fire, washing clothes by hand, in the smoldering heat every day. I couldn’t even enjoy my nice soft bed without thinking of those paper thin mats that we had bought for so many that were just laid on the floors of our friends’ and neighbors’ homes.
No matter how simplified I tried (and still try) to keep our life in the states, it was (and is) still a thousand times better then how the poor in the Philippines and all the other countries we visited are living. My broken heart just continued to shatter more each day as I struggled with one simple question “Why”. Well, tons of of “Why” questions actually.
Why was I born in a country with such an easy life? Why were those women and their children living the life they were living? Why were all of our needs taken care of? Why didn’t God take care of everyone’s needs? How could God be so unfair?
The answer every time was GREED. Mine and yours. I had never thought of myself as rich or greedy before missions. We lived simply and gave to the poor or so I thought. But my eyes had been opened to my own selfishness and greed from the very first mission trip we took. The heartache just got worse and worse as time went on as I watched the “fast paced world of luxury and convenience” suck our family back in.
Then reports of death began flooding my inbox. So many people we had known and had cared for in the Philippines were dying—friends, patients, students, neighbors, the poor we had met a few times. Again the question “Why” took over my mind and heart which was followed by “What if”. So many “what ifs”. What if we were still there? What if we were able to get them to the hospital sooner? What if we were there and had bought the medicines they needed?
This was my breaking point. Literally. I sought counseling and even checked myself in to a mental hospital to try to get help. But no one understood my pain or my thinking. The counselor just kept telling me how amazing I was for doing what I had done. She wanted to hear all the amazing stories which only brought back the memories that had been haunting me. The mental hospital just wanted to drug me up to forget the pain and heartache.
At that point, I knew that the only one to help me out of this despair was Jesus. He was the only person that knew the depth of my heartache because His heart ached even more than mine did because He sees the poor, the sick, the dying, the destitution, and the greed of the whole world not just the glimpse He had given me in missions. He shed so many more tears, even tears of blood, than I had could ever shed and so I didn’t hold back. I told Him how angry I was. I told Him how He should be doing “His” job. I even repeated the Bible verses about Him caring for the poor back to Him. And I even questioned whether He was real or not. Then I sat back and let Him comfort me and speak to my heart and remind me that He still loved me.
As time went on, my heart started to mend as I dove head first into my new role as mission trip coordinator. A mission trip was where God began to transform our family’s hearts, and I was so happy to help plan life changing trips for others. My new mission was just what I needed to start to feel whole again. But as time went on, God began to putting it on our hearts that another big change was on the horizon. But we weren’t worried, we had already packed up and left behind our life, our home, and our friends and family twice now, what could possible be harder?
Well, two years ago, He called us to wrap up our time as full time missionaries and return to our hometown. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but returning home was not anything like I imagined. I never imagined that this would be the hardest and loneliest move of all.
Even though we had visited our hometown numerous times since returning from the Philippines, we were not prepared for how different things were. Nothing was the same. Nothing was familiar. Nothing was welcoming. Not our new home. Not our home church parish. Not our friends. Not our family. Everyone and everything had continued on without us.
We didn’t seem to fit back in anywhere because everything and everyone had changed in the seven years we had been gone just as we had changed. We had lived a totally different life and experienced things that no one else could relate to. And everyone else had lived a life and experienced things that we could not relate to. The only people who understood our life were the other missionaries that had become our friends and family who were scattered around the world.
So, here I am today still struggling with the same thoughts and feelings — homesickness, loneliness, confusion, doubt, sadness, brokenness—-while struggling to not be sucked back into the world. But also knowing that I am so very blessed to have been called to such a life and that I’m crazy enough I’d do it all over again knowing the pain and heartache.
