A TCK Goodbye

I've said a lot of goodbyes. And I'm getting ready to say four more. One relationship began tonight, and may end in a few days, with a TCK that actually understands me. So for all of the goodbyes for all of us TCKs, here's my goodbye.

For moments we find ourselves in complete togetherness

For moments we can share a laugh or a tear

For moments we sit and talk and find our way as members

Of this crazy body

For moments when we say goodbye and part ways

And share prayers and say

It’s okay to say goodbye

It’s okay to turn the other way

But I’ll always have a piece of you.

So shine on you star

Shine on as your spikes

Hit different places and you pull them into your one being.

For moments we know this world is not our home

For moments we don’t know where we belong

For moments it feels like it’s never going to be okay

And share yet another goodbye

As it’s your turn to turn away

But you shared a piece of you with me

So shine on you star

Shine on as your spikes

Hit different places and you pull them into your one being.

For moments we’re on top of the world

For the hug that says it will all be okay

For the true moments of joy and pure love

And the one goodbye we will never have to say

So shine on you star

Shine on you star

Gain some more spikes

And shine on you star.

Humbled

These are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs. I'll explain why.

"Billy made a promise but didn't end though

Carrie had a dream but she threw it out the window
Kevin met a nice girl who broke his heart and
His friends never told him but they knew it from the start and...

These are the things we go through
Let's take control and be ourselves
Let's not waste time wondering about
How we're gonna make it out

Wake up everyone around you
Let's rock until the clock strikes two
Stand up for what you believe and shout to
Here's another song from the youth that surround you

Kyle's parents split up, he thinks it's his fault
Little does he know that the time they're in was difficult
Andrea she left home, said she had enough
All she really wanted was somebody else there to love

She's all alone again, it's the same old argument
And she needs a helping hand to help her find the truth

These are the things we go through
Let's take control and be ourselves
Let's not waste time wondering about
How we're gonna make it out

Wake up everyone around you
Lets rock until the clock strikes two
Stand up for what you believe and shout to
Here's another song from the youth that surround you

Save me I'm all alone as I'm coming to the surface
Tell me I've got to know what is my meaning and my purpose
Show me I'm far from home lost with no sense of direction
Take me to Your throne"

This was one of my favorite songs when I was a youth--when I was lost and confused. It always reminded me that I was not alone because all of the other kids my age were dealing with the same things, just in different ways.

This is one of my favorite songs now because of my job. This song reminds me in one way or another of all of my youth. Each one with their private freak-outs and exhaustion and the way they work so hard, so hard just hoping that someone will notice them and that they will be told that they are valuable. All of that drama feels far behind me now.
But I am so humbled that I am able to work in teenagers' lives and help them figure out where they belong. I am able to help them find their voices, through the grace of Jesus Christ. The fact that at least a couple of them trust me and the fact that they accept my concern means the world to me.
It is painful to watch sometimes as these youth, who are only a couple of years younger than I am, struggle and fight to survive each day. Some of them are so busy and move from one thing to another so fast that I wonder how they have the energy to smile.
But a lot of the time they don't smile. They are fighting their way to the surface, and it's hurting them. American society tells them that they have to work harder, be thinner, be smarter, look prettier, all the while getting top grades and taking 4 AP classes. The pressure has to be killing them. But they won't admit to it.
But I am humbled that I get to watch as they embark on this journey. I get to be the one who gets the late night phone calls and texts when something has gone wrong. I am so humbled, and so blessed, to walk with them on their journeys of faith. And yes, we have all had growing pains, and trying to get them to see the importance of faith is difficult, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Someone said to me the other day that they didn't think this job was healthy for me. I would beg to differ... I get to watch God work miracles on a daily basis in these kids' lives. I am more grateful for that than for anything else in my life right now.

"I'm Here! Here I Am! Oh Boy! Now what?" life as a lost MK

A funny thought struck me as I walked back to my apartment tonight. Shuffling through the red leaves, I realized “I am in the US”.

This seems like kind of an obvious statement for someone who has lived here for the past year and four months, but it was a loaded statement for me.

My family moved to Uganda when I was nine. At that age of Barbies and American Girl Dolls and the pre-pubescent craze, I thought my life was being stripped away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to go to Africa and be an adventurer. But I missed my friends and I missed the ease of life that came with living in the States.

I tried to have a “normal life”. I guess it was normal to me: a life that involved chasing monkeys and climbing mango trees to get the “raw”—or green—baby mangoes while playing with my hand-me-down American Girl doll with the other missionary kids.

But I was always an outsider. I remember crying to my mom when I was 12--will I ever just feel normal with my Ugandan friends? The answer was that there were a couple, a few exceptions to the rules (I'm talking about you, Grayc Gatera and Bridget Malunga who will sadly never see this). 

By the time I was twelve, though, something seemed amiss. Life wasn’t normal. The things that had brought me joy at one point seemed childish and mundane. I began to look at the US as this glorious savior. When the time came for our first trip back to the US right around the time of my twelfth birthday I counted the hours until our plane would land and I would be whisked off back into a normal life.

Well, the plane landed, and I was whisked off, but I knew something was wrong the first day I was there. My parents told me to take a nap to deal with the jet-lag and the double over night flights. I tried to, back in our old friend’s familiar house. In the room which had been my best friend’s, where I had spent countless hours, and where I should feel at home. Sleep did not come. The problem? It was too quiet. Where were the roosters? The cows? In the endless hum of the air conditioning—another sound that I was unaccustomed to—I heard the dreary life of a machine.

Over the next few “home leaves”—6 week trips in and out of my passport country—I developed and lost relationships.

By the time I was 13 I felt the true loss of an MK. I cried for the life I believed I “should have had”.

This continued for years… the sense that I was in the wrong place. As I fell into a teenage depression over it I realized that I really just missed the US. I coveted every bit of Americana that I could get.

“It’s the life I should have,” I would say to my parents. As I read my 17 magazine, I honestly thought that that was what life would be like.

I remember some of the questions that went through my mind about Uganda..

In what world was it okay to be sexually harassed and threatened at every turn?

In what universe could I possibly blend in with the Ugandans, when every millimeter of my body cried out that I was different?

In what galaxy was it okay for me to get sick with tropical illness while facing gun battles down the street over elections?

Why had God abandoned me there?

And so I counted the days until I would return to the US for university. Everything would be better then, surely.

My first year was pure Hell.

On what planet was it okay for everyone to sleep around?

In what context was it okay for people to mock my home country?

Why had God taken me away from the one home that I knew?

As I felt lost and alone and cried night after night, I knew something wasn’t right. But I began to find my footing.

I remember the biggest revelation to me: home is not “nowhere,”. It is in Heaven.

So I shuffled through the leaves today. I covet every bit of news I get on Uganda, every snippet I hear about someone’s travels. This summer I got my driver’s license and drove to the mall to hang out sans parents for the first time ever.

The truth though was that it felt empty. This country that I had idolized ever since I was whisked away in an airplane in 2004 felt meaningless.

I recently posted on a Missionary Kid discussion board the question “Who else has itchy feet?” The response was almost devastating: we all want to be somewhere else.

Are we happy as MKs wherever we get planted? Well, we have honey moon phases. We are not often content with where we are, always dreaming of being somewhere else.

I still cry to my mom: will I ever feel normal with my American friends? The answer is yes--with a few exceptions to the rules (Tasia, Nix, Maddie, Maia, talking about you guys!)

Rumbly Tumbly Stuff and Fluff

What does Winnie the Pooh have in common with the real world?

Our friends are all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Meanwhile we all want to be a little more this way or a little more that way and so we go to our thinking spots, which is where a lot of the danger happens.

All around the world people seek to change their body in various ways, sometimes going to extreme lengths.

It’s not just the US. In Uganda, there were advertisements everywhere for creams to gain big butts and hips. Everyone wants to be heavier leading to the common compliment: “you are so fat!”

Feeling overwhelmed with the pressure to be small?

In the US though we strive to be our smallest. Stuff and fluff is not okay, and we have to hope our stitching doesn’t pop. We desire to lose as much weight as possible, leading to women skipping meals or making themselves throw up in order to lose weight. We would be happiest being Piglet.

We fear the things that people say behind our backs. What is even worse is that sometimes people do say horrible things “She was so fat it was like eeewww” is something I heard the other day.

Women turn to the extremes offered on the TV: diet supplements, lipo suction, and a world of hunger and pain.

Negative body image is not only something that leads to crazy diets, though. It is something that also affects us every day. We think about it when we get dressed, we think about it when we see our reflection in the mirror, and we think about it when someone wants to take a picture. It infiltrates everything, and can lead to poor reactions and major dips in self-esteem.

As I said, body image issues are worldwide issues. It affects men as well as women. Men are pressured to be larger than women with sculpted muscle. Men are teased about having a  “doughy stomach” or about not having enough muscle. Men tend to be so self-conscious about this that they work out at extreme lengths. Maybe they bouncing on your tail up through a tree is a form of a work out.

yes Tigger, I see your six pack

We all come in different shapes and sizes (and fun colors!). Personally, I am “short, fat, and proud of that” to quote Winnie the Pooh.

Pooh with attitude. aka "me"

I am proudly made of stuff and fluff. Let’s all accept each other for where we are, and not look down on anyone else or on ourselves.

The story of my life-- I just might be a small church youth leader.

If you get up at 6 am on Sunday and finally finish at 9 pm, you might be a small church youth leader.

If everyone in the congregation knows your name, has white hair and all look alike yet expect you to know exactly who they are, you might be a small church youth leader.

If there is a pool table in the room where you meet that has been broken for months but for sentimental reasons can’t get rid of it, you might be a small church youth leader.

If you live in the church and get to listen to the “choir” practice every day, you might be a small church youth leader.

If your boss acts more like your dad and you end up talking to him about personal things as well as coordination for getting teens to a nationwide conference, you might be a small church youth leader.

If you have no training whatsoever but are suddenly charged with 10 teenagers, you might be a small church youth leader.

If the only time your phone goes off this often is when there is a debate over the pool table’s fate, you might be a small church youth leader.

If you get frantic calls from a parent organizing a Veterans Day event offering to build your reputation as a leader if you sing a song with their son, you might be a small church youth leader.

If your table is piled with the book “How to Stay Christian in High School” and Bible Pictionary, you definitely are a small church youth leader.

If you absolutely adore your job and wouldn’t trade it for anything, if you get free food and rides, if the church staff are your best friends, you have it good as a small church youth leader.

Home”coming”

I can hear the homeless person coughing outside my window. He/she was there upon my return from the homecoming dance tonight at 1:00 am.

I called campus safety, figuring they could help somehow. They didn’t even come over. So whether kind or stupidly dangerous I made some tea in an insulated cup and grabbed an extra comforter and three pack of mini peanut butter dip cups, and went to visit the stranger.

She didn’t wake up while I was there, but I could hear her moaning with the cold as I covered her with the blanket.

The person at the doors of the church has no home.

I am lucky in that I have many homes. I can go to many parts of the world, find a bed, and be safe and loved. Isn’t that all that “home” is anyway? But I’m not really home yet. My life is transitory, spanning the globe and in some indefinable state of  movement. I think the similarity between me and this stranger outside our door is that neither of us are really at rest.

Rest in the hope of the Creator

I question what the hope is in these situations. But I know that in God both of us have a home. In God the poor say I am rich. In God we will both find our final rest, and we will have no more cold nights. We can hope for angels and be angels to everyone else until we can come home.

Voices. Loud Voices.

Everything in the world clamors at us, attempting to get us to listen. Music plays, planting thoughts of romance or of drug addicts. The Bible clamors for attention with comforting words and promises, along with much needed convictions and rebukes. Within 30 seconds of scrolling through Facebook I saw “Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what had been spoken to her by the Lord” and another post “Listen to your soul”. Meanwhile TV is trying to tell us that it’s not really so bad to sleep around. Ads on your Facebook make you crazy as they claim to have the miracle pill for weight loss, and you end up losing $100 meanwhile you’re craving the chocolate cake and ice-cream you can get for a few bucks just up the road.

It’s a mad house.

I know I’m not the first to complain about all of the loud noise of America. But here’s what I miss:

The power goes out, as does the internet and water. For tonight, at least, there is nothing you can do. You wear an “ear light”, which is basically a mini flashlight you wear over your ear. So it makes you look like the Borg, but at least you can read a good book. The candlelight flickers on the wall, making the cast iron figures dance in praise.  Before bed you read the Bible, and the deep words speak straight to you. You don’t have anything else to compare it to, so you just let it sink in.

I miss those intimate moments with God. I miss the lack of distraction. I miss knowing that you are utterly powerless.

What I miss the most though is the stars. It’s always the stars. After a rainstorm that knocked out all of the power lines and the pump that brings water to your house the sky is clear. No lights obscure it, no smog fills the sky. Pin-pricks of light entrance you everywhere you look. And in that moment, you realize though you are smaller even than the stars and about as noticeable to God as an ant you were created for a purpose. Maybe it’s to help another ant get over the wall, it doesn’t really matter right now. What matters is that God sent his son to die for you, and you feel the peace and depth of love deeply.

What gets to me most about all of the noise and loud voices surrounding me right now is that it drowns out my own voice. Maybe I would have something to say if I didn't have to use a megaphone. Maybe I would hear and be heard if we could just narrow it down. The worst part, by far, is that everyone else's individual voice is buried. Your pain, your joy, your love, it's all hidden in fake Facebook statuses and 140 word tweets. We become part of a machine. 

The song below sums up how I feel perfectly. I just want some quiet.

My mind is filled today with everything clamoring for attention. I have no peace. Nightmares fill my brain while I’m listening to music, while I’m writing papers, while I’m eating.

God could be screaming some life saving message right now and I wouldn’t hear it. The worst part is that my mind is so busy and so full, I can’t even hear the thoughts I need to sort through these nightmares because they just don’t rank as high as everything else I have to do. The noise traps me in, and signals that I will not escape. What else is there to do other than keep busy? I wish I could say the background noise was all harmless, but it really isn’t.

My honest question is: "Where is the hope? Where is the peace?" Because I'm looking around and I just don't see it. I want to hear God whisper hope into my heart, but it's too noisy to hear a whisper.