At VBS last night, a little girl showed me the Word with pictures and illustrations, and asked me to find the story we were learning. "Have you read this book?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, flipping to the page with Jesus on a donkey.
"Have you read this story before?" she whispered.
"Many times," I answered. But not enough, not nearly enough.
I'm not used to working with children, but this week I'm a group leader for 1st graders. It only takes a few minutes spent with these kids to be humbled by the call to have faith like a child.
Every night we sing a song that says "Find someone you don't know and give them a high-five!" Two or three of the same kids come to me every time. It's our thing.
I've been back in the States for about a month, and a lot of people have asked: What's it like to be home? This is so simple at first glance. And then not simple at all. Because home is not my parents' house, or the apartment I lived in before Mongolia, or any particular building. And home is where the heart is, but as you probably know by now, my heart has been irreversibly scattered around the globe. And my answer to the question, or any question really, must travel through several introvert filters before leaving my mouth, and so I find myself saying: It's nice to be here.
It is nice to have a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream on a summer night. It is nice to breathe fresh air on a morning run. It is nice to get uninterrupted sleep in a quiet neighborhood in a small town. Convenience is nice, too. And it's wonderful to see my family and friends.
But it's also weird. Drinking cold water, wearing flip flops, eating blueberries, speaking English all day, and taking the dog for a walk don't feel normal yet. The sound of a lawn mower, Starbucks drive-thrus, and putting my clothes in a dryer is all a little strange.
I knew there would be some "reverse culture-shock." I was warned. And it really hasn't been that bad. Just different. The worst part has been the jet lag, which lasted 10 days (and NOBODY warned me about that!). I'm eager to get into some kind of a routine when grad school starts in the fall. And I'm doing my best to enjoy this vacation, because who knows the next time I'll have this short of a to-do list. I'm also learning that I thrive when I'm busy, and I really don't know how to just relax without being bored or lazy. But there is a time for everything and a season for every activity.
Today I wandered into a fair trade store. (It's the same store where I bought a pair of TOMS last summer, and the woman at the register thought I was going to Egypt when I said Asia, and she gave me a free headband for my trip to Egypt. I took it because I like free stuff, and maybe I'll go to Egypt someday.) The owner was there, a man in his mid-fifties, and he was rambling on about all the positive energy in the store that day. I bought a book bag to use in the fall and the conversation turned to spirituality. He was quoting George Harrison and then he told me about his brother. "My brother's fifty and he's physically alive, you know? But he's dead inside."
"There are a lot of people like that." I said, waiting for my change. I told him I'm a Christian and even a lot of so-called spiritual people seem dead inside sometimes.
"That's right," he nodded, holding my change in his hand, "Ask and ye shall receive. Knock and the door will open. People just gotta knock." He gave me my change and a free piece of chocolate and a coupon for a new juice bar opening down the street.
And then he asked if we could high-five, so we did.
