I arrived on American soil late Monday night. The feelings of reverse culture shock have been almost proverbial and barely worth relating. I have done my best not to allow things to get away from me, while at the same time the desperate urge to preserve all that I have experienced, seen, heard, learned about myself, the world, and God has not faltered. I have had so much to write about, and yet because of the sheer volume, I have had nothing to write about.
All this to say that I am home, that is, that I have returned to the land of my terrestrial birth. And yet, I am not home. That is to say, this place, this particular longitude and latitude, has never been my home. But once a resident has been away for a time--and that time need not be long--he discovers things about himself, about the place he called home in light of all the places that had once been (and may perhaps continue to be) strange to him, and about elsewhere that make it impossible for him to see "home" the same way. One truly cannot go home again, for reasons both good and bad. Home as it was will never again, even though a physical departure from it is not necessary. All one must really do is grow up. But leaving does seem to accelerate the process by which we begin to notice differences, changes, shortcomings, things we long for or detest that are either no more or are different in relation to our perception and experience of them.
My greatest fear is not that I will unable to return to life as usual. My greatest fear is not that I will be unable to relate to people here. My greatest fear is not that I will forget anything or everything that has transpired over the course of these three months. No, my greatest fear is that I will return to life as usual, that I will look upon this place as alien, and that, while remembering lessons and revelations, will choose to ignore them. I do not want things to be the same as they were. I do not want to be the same person I was. I do not want to distance myself from life or from God. I want to continue to grow in the Light, to seek Him with all my heart, to be alone with Him, to serve Him, and love Him. I want to enjoy living and to do so diligently. I want to share whatever I have to share and to be alive, not as those who have not known the Truth are alive.
I have discovered many things, but my competence in the execution or understanding is only at the most elementary level. I am like one who has discovered music--that it exists--but cannot yet play with authority or finesse. I have just discovered the world of mathematics, of science. I am like one blind who has just seen the blue sky, the white of clouds, the green of spring, but is as yet unaware of what I am looking at or of how I am looking at it. All I can do is see, but nothing more. The window has been cracked open just a little more and I can see beyond where I could see before, though it be not far beyond.
I can understand more deeply what it means to die to the world, to old ways, to compromises, to things that are so unimportant, but for which so many lose their lives. I have understood what it is to run away, to be gathered back and disciplined, only to be forgiven and comforted the very moment following repentance. I have had but a glimpse of what it is to be totally dependent upon God.
It is difficult to come back, although I suppose it is incorrect to look at it that way. I am not coming back, that is, I am not regressing (although I certainly have that option). There is so much to say, and yet perhaps it cannot or should not be said.
All this to say that I am home, that is, that I have returned to the land of my terrestrial birth. And yet, I am not home. That is to say, this place, this particular longitude and latitude, has never been my home. But once a resident has been away for a time--and that time need not be long--he discovers things about himself, about the place he called home in light of all the places that had once been (and may perhaps continue to be) strange to him, and about elsewhere that make it impossible for him to see "home" the same way. One truly cannot go home again, for reasons both good and bad. Home as it was will never again, even though a physical departure from it is not necessary. All one must really do is grow up. But leaving does seem to accelerate the process by which we begin to notice differences, changes, shortcomings, things we long for or detest that are either no more or are different in relation to our perception and experience of them.
My greatest fear is not that I will unable to return to life as usual. My greatest fear is not that I will be unable to relate to people here. My greatest fear is not that I will forget anything or everything that has transpired over the course of these three months. No, my greatest fear is that I will return to life as usual, that I will look upon this place as alien, and that, while remembering lessons and revelations, will choose to ignore them. I do not want things to be the same as they were. I do not want to be the same person I was. I do not want to distance myself from life or from God. I want to continue to grow in the Light, to seek Him with all my heart, to be alone with Him, to serve Him, and love Him. I want to enjoy living and to do so diligently. I want to share whatever I have to share and to be alive, not as those who have not known the Truth are alive.
I have discovered many things, but my competence in the execution or understanding is only at the most elementary level. I am like one who has discovered music--that it exists--but cannot yet play with authority or finesse. I have just discovered the world of mathematics, of science. I am like one blind who has just seen the blue sky, the white of clouds, the green of spring, but is as yet unaware of what I am looking at or of how I am looking at it. All I can do is see, but nothing more. The window has been cracked open just a little more and I can see beyond where I could see before, though it be not far beyond.
I can understand more deeply what it means to die to the world, to old ways, to compromises, to things that are so unimportant, but for which so many lose their lives. I have understood what it is to run away, to be gathered back and disciplined, only to be forgiven and comforted the very moment following repentance. I have had but a glimpse of what it is to be totally dependent upon God.
It is difficult to come back, although I suppose it is incorrect to look at it that way. I am not coming back, that is, I am not regressing (although I certainly have that option). There is so much to say, and yet perhaps it cannot or should not be said.
“Something has spoken to me in the night...and told me that I shall die, I know not where. Saying: "[Death is] to lose the earth you know for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.”
