Culture shock.
It's weird being home.
Having family around to bug you and having chores asked of you. I still feel like I'm moving- event after event occurring in my life. School ending, half a month home, Africa, one month home, school again. The constant moving isn't helping my coasting coping mechanism that I mentioned earlier, but I feel like this blog might. I can talk to it, the abyss of the inter-webs, about my struggles and joys. About the hard times I had in Africa, which may help me in getting over the strain it still has on me.
Culture shock is a challenging thing to describe to a person who has never really experienced it before. It's not like going to Europe or living in a different state, but rather returning home from somewhere that no one can understand you. Somewhere the people live in mud-brick houses and shiver every night. A place where everything you thought you knew is thought of completely different. So you come home to first-world America and wonder why you deserve to live here. Why is it that those fathers beat their children and get drunk instead of feeding them while you have a kind, providing father you can call "Dad." Why is it that thirty-five dollars a month can bring grown women to cry tears of joy at the future of their children when that's less than we pay for pizza night. These children had protruding bellies of malnourishment only three years ago and millions across the continent still do and will until they die. What do you do when a beggar boy, less than 10 years old, comes to your table and asks for food?
It's heartbreaking, but the American people are desensitized.
They don't see it so it's not their problem while I watch them throw away seven boxes of half-eaten pizzas. Don't you know if you save your money by eating those leftovers, you could save someone's life?
It's heartbreaking, but the American people are desensitized.
They don't see it so it's not their problem while I watch them throw away seven boxes of half-eaten pizzas. Don't you know if you save your money by eating those leftovers, you could save someone's life?
But I can't change the world on my own even though the problems glare at me and I talk about it. Only Christ can change the world. So we keep loving on kids. We keep forgiving the ignorant. We keep serving the poor and helpless. We keep going to the fatherless and unloved.
Yesterday I went to our church's college ministry bible study at my childhood friend's house. The lesson wasn't revolutionizing and I fell asleep in the long prayer cause of jet-lag but it was so good to be with old friends again. I got to joke around, be silly, and talk with people who have been there for me for years.
I talked for an hour to an old friend I held a bible study with in 2011, who went to Africa with my dad a few years ago. He knew what I was going through, the culture shock and strain of being a mk/pk because his dad was a pastor once. It felt so liberating to get all of my struggles off my chest to someone who could talk me through it like a kind brother looking out for me. So freeing to know I'm not alone experiencing this. He knew the pain of returning home and he knew the strain of a dad in ministry. So I'm grateful. Hopefully I can be that person for someone else in life experiencing this one day.
I talked for an hour to an old friend I held a bible study with in 2011, who went to Africa with my dad a few years ago. He knew what I was going through, the culture shock and strain of being a mk/pk because his dad was a pastor once. It felt so liberating to get all of my struggles off my chest to someone who could talk me through it like a kind brother looking out for me. So freeing to know I'm not alone experiencing this. He knew the pain of returning home and he knew the strain of a dad in ministry. So I'm grateful. Hopefully I can be that person for someone else in life experiencing this one day.
I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you. John 14:18
-my heart is not afraid
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