Breathe.
Breathe.
However, those breaths of unburdened, refreshing air bring the oxygen levels back to my brain and send nerves pulsing with recollections of everything that has happened over the course of the year. With the dates of two thousand and fourteen being so hastily checked off, it is hard not to reflect on the events--both good and bad--that have carefully constructed the building blocks of these past fifty-two weeks.
And even though only twelve or thirteen of those weeks were spent in foreign lands, that's all on which I can fix my mind.
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Last year at a Christmas party, I received a copy of the book Kisses from Katie, compliments of my incredible youth minister and his wife. I'd been meaning to read for a while--ever since I returned from Kenya in 2012, in fact. But school consumed all of my time and allowed no room for pleasure reading. I finally started reading this little jewel while I was home during that break but was quickly whisked away into the festivities of the season. The book was set aside along with a promise that I would return. The spring semester started up, and the book was carefully placed on a shelf in my dorm room. I purposefully positioned the book to stare me in the eye each time I sat I my desk. I would often look at it with a face that read "I promise I'll get back to you, but right now, I have to write six lesson plans in order to survive this semester." Then I would guiltily look down at my work and push the book to the back of my mind. The cycle continued until the day I had to move out of the dorms for the summer. While I was packing, I kept in mind that I would be traveling to Kenya and would not need to take much of anything back with me. I shoved some clothes in a bag, threw my laptop in my backpack, and grabbed a few books for entertainment purposes. Everything else was placed in storage. But as I was just about to leave, I remembered that promise I had made to the author Katie Davis a few months earlier. I ran to storage to retrieve this book and placed it in my crowded book bag along with everything else.
And, oh goodness, am I glad I did.
During the week I had at home before I left for the airport, I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. I visited with family members and friends in the few short days I had before I would leave for the most impacting trip of my life. I got well-wishes from most and words of discouragement from a few. I was told of the unexpected journeys I might find along the way and the danger I could possibly face. I took all negatives with a grain of salt. My last night in the United States was spent in the embrace of my mother and immediate family members, and it was also full of a few shed tears due to frustrations with luggage and packing. As I prepared my carry-on bag for the airport the next day, I remembered Katie Davis and the promise I had made to read her book about her life in Uganda. I carefully placed it in my trusty backpack to keep me company during my flights. Then I rushed out the door to set out on my journey.
As soon as I left my siblings and teary mother after going through security, I pulled out the book I had put off for so long. I opened the cover and began to let my mind wander through the beautifully written pages of a nineteen year-old-girl who fell head-over-heals in love with the people in a country of East Africa. I consumed several chapters before I yanked my head out of the book as I heard my flight number being called for boarding. I quickly grabbed my backpack, found my spot in the plane, and began reading once again. This pattern continued all throughout my three days of traveling. I had to take a break from my reading when I arrived in Kenya, but I finally finished the story while I was spending some time with a magnificent family I had met two years prior. I referred back to the book several times throughout my stay, and even more since I have been back.
I am convinced that Katie Davis wrote this book specifically for me. Just one year ago, this copy was in pristine condition: brand new, never been opened, no marks to be found. Now, however, the sides have stains of dirt and tea, the pages are dog-eared from memorable stories, and many lines have been reinstated with markings of agreement or notability. Though we are currently in different circumstances, I know that this young lady and I desire to do similar things with similar people groups in similar circumstances.
Quite a few of the thoughts racing across my mind on a day to day basis are the same ones she shares with her readers. No one here genuinely knows the thoughts of my heart; if you would like a closer look, however, I would recommend this book to you. And if you read it, maybe you will become inspired to take a trip to a foreign land to experience a small glimpse of this love that the author expands upon.
Though I have not actually met Katie Davis, I look to her as mentor and peer in my journey called life. The prayers in her book are the prayers of my heart. Maybe one day I'll have the honor of meeting her here on earth. If not, I know I'll see her when the Lord returns.
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Before I left, three schools offered me positions. I refused all of them because I am not yet properly certified to teach; I still have a bit of schooling left, and though they would have made an exception for me, I knew that receiving my certificate would be the best thing to do. My heart was ripped out when I left that land, but the promise of returning was repeated so many times on my lips.
While I was there, I felt needed. I felt important. I felt ready to face it all. When I returned and got back into the school mode, all of the feelings changed. I wasn't a teacher anymore: I was a student. I wasn't a person of authority anymore: I was one who had to follow all the rules made by those higher than me. I wasn't ready to leave the cocoon of education: I still had so much more to learn that I needed to know.
It wasn't long before questions of Why? flooded my head. Why didn't I stay? Why didn't I remain in the place I love doing the things I love with the people I love?
Why am I even here?
I wish I could tell you that I have everything figured out, that I have discovered reasons for all things. But that would be a lie, a big. fat. lie. Though a few of my Why? circumstances have been made clear, others have been brushed over in a hazy, muddy glaze. It's hard for me to truly convey emotion about the trials I faced and am still facing after my return. When the struggles of this country and the petty arguments between parties overwhelm me, I find myself staring at pictures on my laptop and asking myself once more, Why am I even here?
But some reasons have been made clear to me. Without being here, there is a possibility that I would not have discovered some important things about myself, about the reasons why I desire to go and what I intend to do. God blessed me with a new companion who questions some of the same things I do. We have spent many nights talking about the struggles of wanting to live in two places at the same time but being forced to revel in only one at a time. He has blessed me with a dear sister who speaks Swahili and doesn't even laugh at me when I totally butcher the messages I try to convey. He has blessed me with a precious friend who is the reason why I desire to help those who are forced into labor.
God has blessed me with so much since I have been back; at times I turn my eyes from the reasons I am here and only focus on the Why? aspect. But it is difficult to remain blind when we have a God who opened the eyes of a man born blind.
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I now wear a ring on the ring finger of my left hand.
It's a promise ring.
But it's not the kind of promise ring a boyfriend gives his girlfriend of a few months. No. This ring is not like that at all. It's not made of precious metal. It does not contain a stone of value. In fact, the polish on the cheap metal is almost all worn off, and the fake diamonds on the top are beginning to pop out. The ring is not the important part, though. The symbolism is.
I picked up this ring from a vendor in Kenya during one of my last days. I wear it each day as a reminder of my thirty-five students, of my gracious host family, and of all the other incredible people I encountered.
I wear it each day as a reminder that God has not forgotten me. He promises a life full of humility and servitude, full of love and of discomfort, if only I choose to follow His voice.
This ring is a reminder to those around me that I am promising my life to the path God is preparing, whether it leads to Kenya or somewhere else. Because even though I am head-over-heals in love with this Swahili-speaking, chapati-eating nation, I still desire to go where God leads, not where I lead.
And though that is a hard promise to make, I intend to keep it.
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Proactive.
This is the word I chose at the end to 2013. This is the word I desired to live out in the coming year. Basically, it was the word I chose to describe how I wanted 2014 to be: I wanted to give up my laziness, my unwillingness and become an active member of God's fleet.
It was my plan to choose another word for 2015, for the changes I desire and the differences I hope to see. Instead of changing my word, however, I am adding another one on.
Contentedness.
I hope in 2015 that I learn to be content with where God places me. However, I still must remain proactive while I am there.
These two words are not just reminders for me; I pray that they will find you as well. I pray that you will choose to live proactively for God while being content in your circumstance.
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Two thousand and fourteen has been a year for the books. I am eager to see the joys that this next chapter holds.
Striving to live proactively and contentedly,
Bekah
