Will I Come Back?
The short and sweet answer--
Yes, I will.
Beginning in January, I began to seriously consider returning for a second year to Santo Domingo to continue working with Vida Estudiantil (aka the Latin American branch of Campus Crusade for Christ). I was conflicted.
The thing is, I've dreamed of writing since before I entered kindergarten. When I was in the sixth grade, I carried a yellow notebook full of stories around with me to class, and if I was bored or lonely, I would take it out and invent something, anything--a different place, a different time, different people. I remember one day a classmate of mine snatched my notebook off my desk and announced that he was going to read my diary aloud. I panicked. I swore it wasn't a diary. I begged. I pleaded. I think I might have been on the verge of tears. Not because it was my diary, (I am truly hopeless as far as keeping diaries are concerned), but because it was just as much a part of me as a record of my thoughts would be.
Because, actually, my writing was my dreams.
And I don't mean the dreams that come from a restless sleep or dreams like Martin Luther King Jr., had.
I mean dreams like all the things that you want and hope for because it doesn't make sense for you to want or hope for something else.
I mean dreams that take root and grow until they are practically fused to your very nervous system. Dreams that outlast a change in city or country or language or culture.
Dreams that are a part of you like your hair is blond or you will always eat the red Skittles last.
Dreams that are just facts about your life.
So, January and February roll around, and I'm bewildered. In spite of the challenge this year has been, I love what I do. I love sharing the life-changing message of Jesus Christ. I love challenging and encouraging students as they take steps of faith. I love relying so much more on the Holy Spirit. I love talking (or trying to talk) in Spanish. I love that mangos fall out of trees, and it's normal. I love listening to people. I love wanting to look at each day with an eternal perspective. I love the mornings before the city really gets bustling. I love that I wake up and want to go to work.
As I was praying about whether to return for one more year to Santo Domingo, I initially thought God was giving me a resounding no. I sent in my letter of resignation for July then spent the rest of the morning in tears. I went to campus, and a student immediately asked me why I was so melancholy. I began telling family and friends my decision. I stopped eating. My time with the Lord was anguished. This lasted one week, the same week in March that our team hosted a Spring Break Vision trip from South Carolina, North Carolina and Kentucky.
The final night of this group's visit, we went to eat at a swankier restaurant. The food is so excellent here. Dominicans are really proud of their skills in the kitchen (as they should be), and the meal I ordered is a personal favorite. Yet, I remember sitting at the table, looking around as everyone finished their meal, physically forcing myself to eat half a bowl of rice. And I thought, I hope no one notices.
My body was rejecting my decision, why?
Because I was depressed, why?
Because I wanted to come back. So badly.
The thing is, my dreams haven't changed. They've just altered. Like the way a filter in a kaleidoscope alters the colors or the shapes of the image. Same dream. Different place or time or people.
That very evening, I sent a message, seeking the opportunity to return for one more year, and it was made possible. Praise the Lord for the patient people I work with.
So, I will come back to the States, July 2nd to be exact, to re-raise support for one more year before, hopefully, returning in August.
As one of my sweet sisters here says every time we schedule any type of plan, "If God wants, if Christ hasn't come and if we're all still alive."
xoxo,
kme
Yes, I will.
Beginning in January, I began to seriously consider returning for a second year to Santo Domingo to continue working with Vida Estudiantil (aka the Latin American branch of Campus Crusade for Christ). I was conflicted.
The thing is, I've dreamed of writing since before I entered kindergarten. When I was in the sixth grade, I carried a yellow notebook full of stories around with me to class, and if I was bored or lonely, I would take it out and invent something, anything--a different place, a different time, different people. I remember one day a classmate of mine snatched my notebook off my desk and announced that he was going to read my diary aloud. I panicked. I swore it wasn't a diary. I begged. I pleaded. I think I might have been on the verge of tears. Not because it was my diary, (I am truly hopeless as far as keeping diaries are concerned), but because it was just as much a part of me as a record of my thoughts would be.
Because, actually, my writing was my dreams.
And I don't mean the dreams that come from a restless sleep or dreams like Martin Luther King Jr., had.
I mean dreams like all the things that you want and hope for because it doesn't make sense for you to want or hope for something else.
I mean dreams that take root and grow until they are practically fused to your very nervous system. Dreams that outlast a change in city or country or language or culture.
Dreams that are a part of you like your hair is blond or you will always eat the red Skittles last.
Dreams that are just facts about your life.
So, January and February roll around, and I'm bewildered. In spite of the challenge this year has been, I love what I do. I love sharing the life-changing message of Jesus Christ. I love challenging and encouraging students as they take steps of faith. I love relying so much more on the Holy Spirit. I love talking (or trying to talk) in Spanish. I love that mangos fall out of trees, and it's normal. I love listening to people. I love wanting to look at each day with an eternal perspective. I love the mornings before the city really gets bustling. I love that I wake up and want to go to work.
As I was praying about whether to return for one more year to Santo Domingo, I initially thought God was giving me a resounding no. I sent in my letter of resignation for July then spent the rest of the morning in tears. I went to campus, and a student immediately asked me why I was so melancholy. I began telling family and friends my decision. I stopped eating. My time with the Lord was anguished. This lasted one week, the same week in March that our team hosted a Spring Break Vision trip from South Carolina, North Carolina and Kentucky.
The final night of this group's visit, we went to eat at a swankier restaurant. The food is so excellent here. Dominicans are really proud of their skills in the kitchen (as they should be), and the meal I ordered is a personal favorite. Yet, I remember sitting at the table, looking around as everyone finished their meal, physically forcing myself to eat half a bowl of rice. And I thought, I hope no one notices.
My body was rejecting my decision, why?
Because I was depressed, why?
Because I wanted to come back. So badly.
A happy heart makes the face cheerful,
but heartache crushes the spirit. Proverbs 15:13
That very evening, I sent a message, seeking the opportunity to return for one more year, and it was made possible. Praise the Lord for the patient people I work with.
So, I will come back to the States, July 2nd to be exact, to re-raise support for one more year before, hopefully, returning in August.
As one of my sweet sisters here says every time we schedule any type of plan, "If God wants, if Christ hasn't come and if we're all still alive."
xoxo,
kme
Comments
Post a Comment