dragging my heals

Some days I struggle to know exactly what to share on my blog. In my last few months in South Africa I started to decide if the purpose was inviting people to share with me on this journey I should be open. Some days I do not have the right words, so refrain from posting. Some days I do write, but the documents stay in the folders on my computer.

But for instance bloging about the transition from South Africa to the United States proved tricky to fully express all the emotions without stepping on anyone’s toes.

I love my family and my friends, but my everyday life was in South Africa with a new small family of friends. I had finally opened my eyes and realized the balance I had reached was healthy and I understood when it was my role to act or to learn and listen or to support. So when my plane ticket arrived via e-mail I broke down. Why was I leaving South Africa? Why was I leaving my daily life?

It took me a couple weeks, some good conversations, and a good church service to get me back on board with my program. And as much as I wanted someone to blame- it was my own choice. I signed on knowing this exactly would happen and believing in the importance of the domestic placement for the program and for my life. At the time I had no idea all the trials that would take place, some that ripped me even more from a sense of home, which meant when I finally found that solid dignified sense of home- it became a strong and powerful thing.

As we learn growing up though, the temper tantrum or digging or heels in becomes and exhausting waste of time. I love where I was able to get in South Africa and more important the people that are part of my journey and part of my family there. It was more important to be present and celebrate that then regret leaving.

Another piece that helped in transitioning was learning my next placement site would be with Justice for Our Neighbors. Do to the timing of the e-mail and life events, for a few hours all I knew was Orlando, Florida. I knew I would probably be living in a different part of the country, but Florida was not my top choice or what I was envisioning. When I got home a few hours later though and started reading through the materials, I was pretty impressed with the match of Justice for Our Neighbors and myself. My best friend in South Africa was sitting on the bed with me as I would blurt out another line from what I was reading, and we would discuss the possibilities.

A month after getting back to the United States and spending some time back with family and friends and the places I grew up, I understood my deep connection to all of that. As I boarded the train to come to Florida I was leaving two homes. Still in the process of transitioning from Africa, transitioning from my family and friends again, I was headed to Orlando Florida. And I was going where I was sent.

The challenge of getting people and churches to dialogue about immigration is here and there is a place for me to do something about it. Some of the people that fed and nourished me in the toughest times in South Africa did not have legal documents, other people being treated like slaves lived outside my back door, the person who taught me how to raise chickens and keep plants alive was also a stranger in a strange land, and children I knew had befallen prey to boarder guards. Being a stranger and loving sojourners on much harder journeys of movements, makes the realities of the stories in the United States even stronger for me. And any of those stories from South Africa are applicable stories in America. The church has supported me to spread the love we are called to share and to work for social justice so that every child of God is treated with the sacredness they deserve. And so I will be going right back into local churches, asking them to remember that same charge placed on me and them.

It is amazing how all the stories and homes connect. How they enrage me and impassion me to be right where I am. The hope is I do it with some grace and I couldn’t so that with all the support I have. But in my honesty these transitions do not come without pain.

I am realizing on Easter I called my ‘family’ in South Africa, and talked to my family in Arlington and in New York, got passed messages from friends at my churches, talked to friends across the country, and was welcomed to a new table in Florida for Easter lunch. And it is all these homes that have gotten me to where I am. I miss you all, but I always rediscover how much strength I keep from these relationships.