When Tides of Longing Overwhelm Me

Every time change happens I leave something behind. That is how change works. You leave a place that made you comfortable, made you safe. You leave friends, familiar conversations, people you trust, people you play with, and people you love. You leave what you know which even, to some extent, includes leaving a part of yourself. When you leave a place, you leave a place that grew you, a place where influential conversations and memories happened that make your soul rich and satisfied.

But they say the hardest part about moving away is not necessarily the leaving, it is the staying. When you stay, there is a sense of permanence. There is the blunt realization, the surreal realization that you cannot leave. I am in Africa. I am here. And even though the stay is not for forever, it is a long enough time (three months in my case) to feel homesick, doubtful, and full of longing. Because when you stay, you cannot see the people you care about, the people you have known and are familiar with. And the people now in your life do not know you. That is how you lose your identity. You yourself arrive as a mysterious person, a blank slate that explains nothing about you. When you stay, you trade those familiar conversations with your friends in coffee shops for uncomfortable exchanges with a stranger. And all the while you know the only thing you can do is “grin and bear it.” And pray. Though I personally spend most of my time bearing it and longing and less time praying.

See, there is an inherent danger in staying. Or maybe the danger rests more in your response to staying. The danger is comparison.

When I left for Africa, I had just returned from Peru. I struggled with that transition. It was hard leaving to a country that did not have the people I love in it. So many of my initial days in Swaziland were spent in bitterness, longing, and comparing. I longed for jungle views instead of sugarcane fields. I missed waking up in my hammock to little children jabbering in Spanish. I craved the companionship of friends who had become my family for the three months prior to my trip to Swaziland. I craved the starry nights under which my friends would tell me stories in Spanish. I missed my boy, Joel. I missed being a part of his life and was bitter toward the idea of embracing new people into my life. I longed to relive every single detail of every memory I had in that place, not to anticipate new memories, friendships, and loves that I would build. I longed to return to Peru. I could not fathom loving Swaziland as much or even more than Peru. And I was scared that loving Swaziland would quell the love I had for Peru. So I was bitter, and I was resistant.

But I was also trapped in a restricting cage of my thoughts and desires until my dear friend shared this quote by Jim Elliot with me, “Let not your longing slay your appetite for living.” Let not my longing for my friends and teammates in Peru hinder my ability to love my new friends and teammates. Let not my longing for the people of Nauta, Peru slay the longing I should have to earnestly love the people of Swaziland, Africa. Let not my old life slay my appetite to embrace my new life. Rather let my old life whet my appetite to anticipate the new life God has planned regardless of whether it comes with joy and sorrow.

I took those words to heart. I knew that I often live in memories of things I have known and that often I am skeptical of how anything new could be as good or better than the familiar life. I knew that mentally living in my memories would restrain me from creating more memories, from seeing Beauty in Swaziland and creating life out of those experiences. I knew that my identity would never grow into a fuller, better picture of Christ if I did not allow myself to carefully and quietly live in and appreciate this place. And so I am searching for a way to live that deepens my understanding of living. I do not know if I have found it. But I have a good idea of what living looks like. It is cuddling a dirty child who runs into my arms. Living is when I wipe the sweat off my brow after pickaxing trees to clear a potential soccer field. When I mindlessly banter with my friends over crazy ideas and silly stories, that is living. When I literally see the heavens declare the glory of God through the African skies, that is living. So are the times I talk with my teammates where we all become a little more transparent and a little more bonded. Living is when I kiss little Nowazi on the cheek and then she unexpectedly kisses my cheek in return. It is expecting Beauty in the little moments (even in hand washing clothes) and the bigger moments (praying for spiritual purity over the lives of the Swazi people). It is finding Beauty and experiencing Beauty by looking into a child’s eyes and feeling overwhelming wonder at the perfect innocence they possess. Living is realizing that experiencing something wholly and fully and humbly is sometimes greater than merely accomplishing a task to obtain a result. Not always, but sometimes. So though my heart longs for Peru, I long also to live as fully as I can in Swaziland and increase my appetite for living.