I have found the change of season here in Wisconsin startling this year. I stepped on a plane September 15, in the midst of an Indian summer and dove head-first into full-blown summery Cameroon weather... but when we returned October 6, the world at home had changed completely. Cool (too quickly shifting to cold) temperatures, leaves carpeting the backyard, and a spectrum of colors splashed across the trees. My brain screeched to a halt. What. The. Heck.
Anyone who knows me well knows I don't face extreme temperatures with grace. I really ought to live in San Diego where it is 72 and sunny most of the time, because that's my sweet spot, weather-wise. Kingdom Worker's director, Bill Meier, had warned me of the heat to expect in Cameroon. So I geared up mentally as well as I could - and, all things considered, I think I did pretty darn well with it. Oh, don't get me wrong. It was HOT. And more humid than I've felt in years. A sheen of sweat covering my body by 7:30 a.m. (doing absolutely nothing) was not uncommon. But I found the abrupt intrusion of cold weather (comparatively) infinitely harder on my mental transition back to home.
Before I had left for Cameroon, I had been resisting any mention of fall with everything inside me. I used to love fall. I loved the crispness in the air, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the earthtones everywhere you looked (although props to the Midwest for the extreme color action... Colorado and Wyoming mostly stick to browns and yellows, so these oranges, purples, and reds are AMAZING)... but when I moved to Milwaukee a year and a half ago, I knew I was making some sacrifices. The sacrifice of leaving behind 300 days of sunshine a year. One of giving up the familiar-to-me "yo-yo" winter weather that isn't unusual to have a few inches of snow on the ground one day and two or three later have temperatures up in the 50s. Giving up the luxury of not dealing with months-long snow-packed roads and constant fear of black ice. The bitter Milwaukee cold drives me indoors for days. I literally would not step foot outside if it weren't for school pick up. The cloudy skies fill my head like a lingering fog, damp and dreary. And the never-melting snow makes for a monotonous view out my icy window panes. So now, instead of a sense of anticipation and excitement of change, fall represents a warning of what is to come.
Dan turned on the heat this morning. I'd been bucking up and dealing with 63 degrees in the house... but at some point reality has to set in; fall is here and there is no turning back. Just like I'm back to the grind in Wisconsin with the palm trees, mountain views, and sunshine of Cameroon far behind me. A big part of me wants to pout. I have plenty of observation to draw from - my kids have it refined to an art form. And there has been a fair amount of internal "pouting" as I readjust to my daily life. I know that does absolutely no good and really just stands to steal my joy from me. The same joy I'm so diligently trying to reawaken in my life and am chasing after. My self-pity just douses the beauty and gifts of the season (or location) with darkness.
So instead, today I consciously opened my eyes to joy. Sure, I stubbornly turned off the heat after everyone was out the door for work and school and I piled on three layers of shirts - and I refused to wear a coat when I ran errands (which I survived, fear not). But I soaked in every ounce of sunshine and smiled at God's beautiful creation that has popped its way up through this urban tangle of buildings and roads and sidewalks. The trees intertwined seamlessly, blending bare branches with green, fiery oranges and reds, with browns and yellows, adding more dimension to the pocket-forests and boulevards than all the greens of summer. Though the breeze was brisk (oh, so brisk), the sun warmed my face and reminded me of the little blessings in life - like that same breeze being a welcome relief from that same sun while in Africa. It is all a matter of perspective.
Perspective cried out to me today. I shopped inside stores with organized departments on unobstructed, smooth floors that had dozens of options of anything you could possibly need. I used a piece of plastic to pay for my purchases and didn't have to count out coins or do any mental currency conversions. I got excited when I scored a $1 off coupon for Starbucks at Target and treated myself to a seasonal latte - a drink I didn't have to question the water source or cleanliness of the preparation utensils, not to mention the fact that I had $4 to spare without a second thought. I drove my own car through streets where drivers (mostly) follow laws and potholes now seem so minor. Cameroon refreshed my perspective on my blessings here, pending winter or not. I was able to acknowledge the joys God has put in my personal path - and see the joys He has given my friends across the ocean in their world too.
Winter will make its way here, regardless of how I feel about the season. And I have been planted in Milwaukee for the indefinite future, even if my heart yearns for somewhere else. But God has most recently given me warm memories from a distant land to help me remember that spring will come again when the flowers are source of endless color... and I can find new joys and gain new perspectives, wherever the Lord takes me: winter, Milwaukee, and all.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Downton Abbeying
There were so many things I did not expect from my travels to Cameroon. Perhaps top of the list was getting hooked on Downton Abbey and blitzing through the first season while there. Now before you get all judge-y on that point, let me explain.
Cameroon, being so close to the equator, gets dark early. Every night. Like 6:30 p.m.-early every night. And with the dark comes more risks. The missionaries generally limit traveling after dark as much as possible because the traffic "laws" in Cameroon are more "guidelines" (night time or not)... or at least, in part, a way for the police forces to occasionally make some happy-hour funds for themselves. So, headlights aren't always a thing, police stops aren't always what they appear, "lanes" are open for interpretation, and, well, you get the idea. So Karen and I stayed home in the evenings after my class ended every night. And once Milton locked the gate and let the dogs out, there was very little going outside anyway unless you wanted muddy paw prints all over you.
Every day of teaching was a long one for both of us women. The two-hour journey over the road to Konye each way took a physical toll on both of us (and a mental one for Karen... that is a LOT of concentrating in order to not get stuck or damage the truck. The first day of class we hit a buried rock hard enough for the seatbelt to bruise my shoulder - a half-dollar-sized beauty that shifted through the entire spectrum of the rainbow over the following week. It was impressive). After the bumpy journey, I taught for two hours, we drove back another two hours, rested for a short bit (if we had time), I prepped for my second class, taught for ANOTHER two hours and then finally returned back home for the night. All that made for a long 11 hours day after day.
There was also the uncertainty of what we would be eating for both lunch and dinner (provided by the pastors' wives), ranging from spicy fish soup (repeatedly) or only packaged cookies ("like America"). Choosing contentment with every meal (even when I got to the gagging on fishbones stage of the week - thank heavens they didn't sit with us while we ate, I would have felt TERRIBLE) - the gift of food and sharing what little they had with us reflected the generosity of the early Christian church and the eternal love of our Savior. And when Karen would cook us a supplemental meal, even if it was eaten at a strange time of the day, it, too, was received with joy. Believe me. JOY.
But by the end of the day, Karen and I were both beat tired. The difference between us, though, was that she was at home and I was a visitor. I remember that distinction SO clearly from when I lived in Japan. Living somewhere and traveling somewhere are two different beasts - which come with different types of challenges and sources of exhaustion. Throughout each day, my eyes and ears took in Africa for the first time, while hers had absorbed these sights and sounds for two decades. The "way things were" had two completely different takes between us; hers based on half a lifetime of experience, while mine brought an outsider's vantage point, both culturally and generationally. Karen was tasked with guiding a complete novice through this land and I was charged with bringing my skills and gifts to use for God's glory and complete my job to the best of my ability, despite having no real grasp on the culture from the get-go. As a former host in a foreign country, I KNOW how wearing that can be.
Don't get me wrong. Visitors in Japan were amazing. I loved hosting and guiding our family, friends, and exchange groups through our Japanese life and sharing with them bits of the culture in which we were immersed. But it was a LOT of work. Emotionally, physically, mentally... and I really empathized with Karen on that point (and truth be told, felt a bit guilty that I increased her work load). Added on to that weight for Karen, though, was the fact that she and I were virtually strangers. Sisters in Christ? Yes. Mothers of all boys, world travelers, and mission-minded? Yes, yes, and yes. But we discovered that my emotional disposition was as foreign to her as Africa was to me. And THAT is a demanding load for anyone to take on, particularly with the rest of the challenge in mind.
By the end of trip I think she and I had figured each other out as well as we could have in three weeks together. And our group as a whole learned some valuable lessons as far as what volunteers need on the short-term mission field and what strategies might help. Like I had mentioned early on, I was the odd one out as far as experience in Africa went and it was, at times, isolating to feel alone in my discoveries and growth. Adding to that the separation of Pastor and Mick from Karen and me, our individual support systems changed dramatically and I lost my volunteer counterpart's immediate support. I also noted that my perspective was so drastically different than my Africa-veteran teammate, that my observations and thought processes were interpreted differently by Karen than I actually intended at times. I found myself internalizing more than I perhaps would have if Mick and I had been onsite together, which lead to a build up of emotions. The release of those emotions caught Karen off-guard, and in the end, we had to learn how to work together for the second half of the trip.
While in the midst of all of that hiding behind my game-time mask, survival was my main goal- regaining my emotional footing and rebuilding credibility with my entire team. From a retrospective angle, however, I can see how directly Satan used my weaknesses and FEARS against me to try to prevent me from doing my job. Pre-departure I had three main worries: 1) That I was leaving my normal emotional support system (Dan and the boys, my mom, close friends, etc.) and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to cut it; 2) That I wouldn't get along with Karen; and 3) That I wasn't going to be able to perform my jobs to the level that was expected by everyone involved. I did what I could to prepare for the "worst case scenarios" (and really, it never got to "worst case," even remotely), but when trials came, boy did Satan amplify my insecurities. Holy buckets, you guys. My confidence was severely undermined by several factors and, to be completely honest, I would have gotten on a plane halfway through the trip and never returned to Africa again, given the opportunity. At the lowest point, I felt like God was using this trip to take my longtime desire to travel and/or live in Africa with my family away from me. Which nearly broke my heart.
I felt so overwhelmed by challenges. My lesson plans had mainly gotten chucked out the window (so all my pre-trip prep felt like it had been done vain), I felt WAY over my head with the level of English the students wanted to learn, which in turn triggered fairly high levels of anxiety before every single class (which I tried not to verbalize). I didn't feel like I was learning as much as I wanted to about the Cameroonian culture, and cultural norms hindered me from using some of the channels I DID have available (being a woman sucks sometimes... seriously). And I had gotten past the "honeymoon phase" of the trip and homesickness sunk in pretty hard - all at the same time. My fear of failing (Kingdom Workers, my team, my donors, my students, the Lutheran Church of Cameroon, myself) was always front of mind and when Karen didn't know quite what to do with me when my emotions boiled up on my bad day, I felt like all my fears had been met. And I couldn't leave. Which is my go-to desire when everything blows up in my face. "Run away!! Run away!!!"
I feel like I should clarify, because this probably all sounds very dramatic. And this is part of my post-trip processing needs. So please don't walk away with the idea that I hated my trip, Karen and I didn't get along, and I never intend to go back to Africa again. Because all of those statements are false. But I do feel like honesty (if for no one else, myself) is needed. It has been hard for me upon returning to know what to say when people ask, "How was it!?" as I mentioned in my last entry. But I have found myself avoiding the topic and sort of keeping to myself, because I don't know exactly how to verbalize my quandaries - and most of all, I don't want them to be misunderstood and cause harm to Kingdom Workers or the mission in Cameroon. But I AM trying to give myself the grace to be ok with not needing an "Everything is Awesome!" (ala The Lego Movie) reaction in regards to my trip, even though some parts really, REALLY were incredibly awesome - including the copious amounts of laughter that Karen and I shared throughout the entire trip.
So in the end, Downton Abbey helped dig me out of my hole a little bit. That sounds totally ridiculous, I know. But after our 11-hour completely draining days, Karen and I found some respite and created a point of Western-world commonality to escape to after a full day of service for the church. Occasionally with hot-off-the-stove popcorn with real melted butter. And frosty mugs of victory beverages. And shorts (I can't even tell you... obligated skirts everyday in the unrelenting heat got old... gym shorts at the end of the day were like a glimpse of heaven).
Downton Abbey in Cameroon... who would have guessed?
Cameroon, being so close to the equator, gets dark early. Every night. Like 6:30 p.m.-early every night. And with the dark comes more risks. The missionaries generally limit traveling after dark as much as possible because the traffic "laws" in Cameroon are more "guidelines" (night time or not)... or at least, in part, a way for the police forces to occasionally make some happy-hour funds for themselves. So, headlights aren't always a thing, police stops aren't always what they appear, "lanes" are open for interpretation, and, well, you get the idea. So Karen and I stayed home in the evenings after my class ended every night. And once Milton locked the gate and let the dogs out, there was very little going outside anyway unless you wanted muddy paw prints all over you.
Every day of teaching was a long one for both of us women. The two-hour journey over the road to Konye each way took a physical toll on both of us (and a mental one for Karen... that is a LOT of concentrating in order to not get stuck or damage the truck. The first day of class we hit a buried rock hard enough for the seatbelt to bruise my shoulder - a half-dollar-sized beauty that shifted through the entire spectrum of the rainbow over the following week. It was impressive). After the bumpy journey, I taught for two hours, we drove back another two hours, rested for a short bit (if we had time), I prepped for my second class, taught for ANOTHER two hours and then finally returned back home for the night. All that made for a long 11 hours day after day.
There was also the uncertainty of what we would be eating for both lunch and dinner (provided by the pastors' wives), ranging from spicy fish soup (repeatedly) or only packaged cookies ("like America"). Choosing contentment with every meal (even when I got to the gagging on fishbones stage of the week - thank heavens they didn't sit with us while we ate, I would have felt TERRIBLE) - the gift of food and sharing what little they had with us reflected the generosity of the early Christian church and the eternal love of our Savior. And when Karen would cook us a supplemental meal, even if it was eaten at a strange time of the day, it, too, was received with joy. Believe me. JOY.
But by the end of the day, Karen and I were both beat tired. The difference between us, though, was that she was at home and I was a visitor. I remember that distinction SO clearly from when I lived in Japan. Living somewhere and traveling somewhere are two different beasts - which come with different types of challenges and sources of exhaustion. Throughout each day, my eyes and ears took in Africa for the first time, while hers had absorbed these sights and sounds for two decades. The "way things were" had two completely different takes between us; hers based on half a lifetime of experience, while mine brought an outsider's vantage point, both culturally and generationally. Karen was tasked with guiding a complete novice through this land and I was charged with bringing my skills and gifts to use for God's glory and complete my job to the best of my ability, despite having no real grasp on the culture from the get-go. As a former host in a foreign country, I KNOW how wearing that can be.
Don't get me wrong. Visitors in Japan were amazing. I loved hosting and guiding our family, friends, and exchange groups through our Japanese life and sharing with them bits of the culture in which we were immersed. But it was a LOT of work. Emotionally, physically, mentally... and I really empathized with Karen on that point (and truth be told, felt a bit guilty that I increased her work load). Added on to that weight for Karen, though, was the fact that she and I were virtually strangers. Sisters in Christ? Yes. Mothers of all boys, world travelers, and mission-minded? Yes, yes, and yes. But we discovered that my emotional disposition was as foreign to her as Africa was to me. And THAT is a demanding load for anyone to take on, particularly with the rest of the challenge in mind.
By the end of trip I think she and I had figured each other out as well as we could have in three weeks together. And our group as a whole learned some valuable lessons as far as what volunteers need on the short-term mission field and what strategies might help. Like I had mentioned early on, I was the odd one out as far as experience in Africa went and it was, at times, isolating to feel alone in my discoveries and growth. Adding to that the separation of Pastor and Mick from Karen and me, our individual support systems changed dramatically and I lost my volunteer counterpart's immediate support. I also noted that my perspective was so drastically different than my Africa-veteran teammate, that my observations and thought processes were interpreted differently by Karen than I actually intended at times. I found myself internalizing more than I perhaps would have if Mick and I had been onsite together, which lead to a build up of emotions. The release of those emotions caught Karen off-guard, and in the end, we had to learn how to work together for the second half of the trip.
While in the midst of all of that hiding behind my game-time mask, survival was my main goal- regaining my emotional footing and rebuilding credibility with my entire team. From a retrospective angle, however, I can see how directly Satan used my weaknesses and FEARS against me to try to prevent me from doing my job. Pre-departure I had three main worries: 1) That I was leaving my normal emotional support system (Dan and the boys, my mom, close friends, etc.) and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to cut it; 2) That I wouldn't get along with Karen; and 3) That I wasn't going to be able to perform my jobs to the level that was expected by everyone involved. I did what I could to prepare for the "worst case scenarios" (and really, it never got to "worst case," even remotely), but when trials came, boy did Satan amplify my insecurities. Holy buckets, you guys. My confidence was severely undermined by several factors and, to be completely honest, I would have gotten on a plane halfway through the trip and never returned to Africa again, given the opportunity. At the lowest point, I felt like God was using this trip to take my longtime desire to travel and/or live in Africa with my family away from me. Which nearly broke my heart.
I felt so overwhelmed by challenges. My lesson plans had mainly gotten chucked out the window (so all my pre-trip prep felt like it had been done vain), I felt WAY over my head with the level of English the students wanted to learn, which in turn triggered fairly high levels of anxiety before every single class (which I tried not to verbalize). I didn't feel like I was learning as much as I wanted to about the Cameroonian culture, and cultural norms hindered me from using some of the channels I DID have available (being a woman sucks sometimes... seriously). And I had gotten past the "honeymoon phase" of the trip and homesickness sunk in pretty hard - all at the same time. My fear of failing (Kingdom Workers, my team, my donors, my students, the Lutheran Church of Cameroon, myself) was always front of mind and when Karen didn't know quite what to do with me when my emotions boiled up on my bad day, I felt like all my fears had been met. And I couldn't leave. Which is my go-to desire when everything blows up in my face. "Run away!! Run away!!!"
I feel like I should clarify, because this probably all sounds very dramatic. And this is part of my post-trip processing needs. So please don't walk away with the idea that I hated my trip, Karen and I didn't get along, and I never intend to go back to Africa again. Because all of those statements are false. But I do feel like honesty (if for no one else, myself) is needed. It has been hard for me upon returning to know what to say when people ask, "How was it!?" as I mentioned in my last entry. But I have found myself avoiding the topic and sort of keeping to myself, because I don't know exactly how to verbalize my quandaries - and most of all, I don't want them to be misunderstood and cause harm to Kingdom Workers or the mission in Cameroon. But I AM trying to give myself the grace to be ok with not needing an "Everything is Awesome!" (ala The Lego Movie) reaction in regards to my trip, even though some parts really, REALLY were incredibly awesome - including the copious amounts of laughter that Karen and I shared throughout the entire trip.
So in the end, Downton Abbey helped dig me out of my hole a little bit. That sounds totally ridiculous, I know. But after our 11-hour completely draining days, Karen and I found some respite and created a point of Western-world commonality to escape to after a full day of service for the church. Occasionally with hot-off-the-stove popcorn with real melted butter. And frosty mugs of victory beverages. And shorts (I can't even tell you... obligated skirts everyday in the unrelenting heat got old... gym shorts at the end of the day were like a glimpse of heaven).
Downton Abbey in Cameroon... who would have guessed?
Friday, October 9, 2015
Processing
I haven't posted for quite awhile... and you never really got to hear "the rest of the story" of Cameroon. Now, as I sit in my own house, sipping coffee with the sounds of my boys getting dressed for school (which always involves singing for some reason), I find myself trying to process everything that happened in the last four weeks.
Looking back, my last entry was from Tuesday and entailed my partial trek home from the grade school in the rain. Oh, how I loved that. I found the alone time refreshing; me, out in the open air, surrounded by nature and humanity intertwined in the most intuitive of ways. Which is immensely hard to explain, perhaps even to someone who was there too. And there in lies my challenge on the back end of the trip. I can recount the happenings and attempt to give a taste of my interactions, but that's all it will be - a nibble. Because it is nearly impossible to verbalize my feelings in a way that will make sense to anyone else. Which, in turn, provides for a lonely return in so many ways. "Reverse culture shock" or "transition" upon coming home is a process that can be very isolating. I realize I have a slew of interested readers and listeners, but too often when I return from a life-changing trip like this (or either of my trips to Japan or to Cambodia or to the Philippines), the question I always run into is a very well intentioned "How was it?"
It is impossible to answer that question. It was many things. It was beautiful. It was challenging. It was discouraging and encouraging in the same breath. It was frustrating and exciting and dirty and adventurous, overflowing with laughter and sprinkled with tears... and all that can't be summed up in a quick elevator speech that most people want before moving the conversation on to "regular life" topics with which they are more familiar. I don't mean that as an insult and it certainly doesn't apply to everyone. But in general, that is the most difficult part of returning home for me after these trips.
I do, in this case, have the opportunity to share some more details about the trip with an intentionally listening audience, as I'll be asked to make some presentations on behalf of Kingdom Workers at my church and in others if they would like. That can be very cathartic and allows me to consciously boil down what I want to share and focus what I learned. And fear not, I intend to continue to recount some of the "snapshots" of my time in Africa here in this blog as I shift back into the routine of America - especially since you didn't hear about my last week there!
I guess my point is, as I make this adjustment, please be patient with me. I'm doing well, particularly since I knew what to expect to a degree because of my traveling history. But in your encounters with travelers, I'd encourage you to be cognizant of the difficulty of answering such a broad question. Any experience of this scope (spiritually, emotionally, and physically) is much too complex to squeeze into a sentence or two.
Now I feel all lecture-y and I don't mean to insult any of you. That is just what's on my mind this morning as I decide what to write about to catch you up on the rest of my journey. And clearly you are here because you DO care and WANT to know what my trip was like, so perhaps I'm preaching to the choir. But I needed to say it. You understand. It's just part of my process of transitioning.
More to come...
Looking back, my last entry was from Tuesday and entailed my partial trek home from the grade school in the rain. Oh, how I loved that. I found the alone time refreshing; me, out in the open air, surrounded by nature and humanity intertwined in the most intuitive of ways. Which is immensely hard to explain, perhaps even to someone who was there too. And there in lies my challenge on the back end of the trip. I can recount the happenings and attempt to give a taste of my interactions, but that's all it will be - a nibble. Because it is nearly impossible to verbalize my feelings in a way that will make sense to anyone else. Which, in turn, provides for a lonely return in so many ways. "Reverse culture shock" or "transition" upon coming home is a process that can be very isolating. I realize I have a slew of interested readers and listeners, but too often when I return from a life-changing trip like this (or either of my trips to Japan or to Cambodia or to the Philippines), the question I always run into is a very well intentioned "How was it?"
It is impossible to answer that question. It was many things. It was beautiful. It was challenging. It was discouraging and encouraging in the same breath. It was frustrating and exciting and dirty and adventurous, overflowing with laughter and sprinkled with tears... and all that can't be summed up in a quick elevator speech that most people want before moving the conversation on to "regular life" topics with which they are more familiar. I don't mean that as an insult and it certainly doesn't apply to everyone. But in general, that is the most difficult part of returning home for me after these trips.
I do, in this case, have the opportunity to share some more details about the trip with an intentionally listening audience, as I'll be asked to make some presentations on behalf of Kingdom Workers at my church and in others if they would like. That can be very cathartic and allows me to consciously boil down what I want to share and focus what I learned. And fear not, I intend to continue to recount some of the "snapshots" of my time in Africa here in this blog as I shift back into the routine of America - especially since you didn't hear about my last week there!
I guess my point is, as I make this adjustment, please be patient with me. I'm doing well, particularly since I knew what to expect to a degree because of my traveling history. But in your encounters with travelers, I'd encourage you to be cognizant of the difficulty of answering such a broad question. Any experience of this scope (spiritually, emotionally, and physically) is much too complex to squeeze into a sentence or two.
Now I feel all lecture-y and I don't mean to insult any of you. That is just what's on my mind this morning as I decide what to write about to catch you up on the rest of my journey. And clearly you are here because you DO care and WANT to know what my trip was like, so perhaps I'm preaching to the choir. But I needed to say it. You understand. It's just part of my process of transitioning.
More to come...
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