Stepping off of the "Life Train"

Its not necessarily trendy to "miss home" while off on a grand missionary adventure in a foreign land.

What IS trendy:
To make your facebook profile picture one of you and a local kid, and collect miracle stories and keep a deep and poetic blog about your experience.

To say that you saw a shark in person and about how the locals are becoming family to you.

To frantically try and change the world in 9 months but realize that some things are best left unchanged and maybe some observance is in order instead.

To expect yourself to be a full-bore missionary every waking hour of the day, and to read your bible an hour every morning at 5:00 AM.

To realize how much we take for granted back in the states, and make every worship talk about that topic.

To introduce new songs to the locals and spice up their way of worshiping forever.

To complain about the heat.

To not admit to missing the homeland.


And then all of a sudden, I feel like a lousy SM.  These things are definitely not bad, don't get me wrong.  But recently "non-missionary" thoughts have been entering my head, the ones that I feel bad thinking about because I begin to feel like I don't appreciate where I am now.

Such as this:
I didn't count, but I think about 90% of posts on my facebook feed either have a picture of a pumpkin, a person holding a pumpkin, or just a talk about pumpkins.  The other 10% include girls being excited about pumpkin spice lattes, super fun things going on at Walla Walla, and someone instagramming their delicious homemade pie or gourmet pizza.

And a realization hits:  Life goes on regardless.  I don't think I expected it to come to a halt while I quick spent a year abroad, but maybe I didn't expect to care that it went on without me.  And while I drool over pictures of Melissa McCrery's cookies and yearn for cool, autumn air, I close my computer and look at myself.

Heat shimmers off the tin roof of the church next to us.  The sun bears down through the humid air onto the empty school grounds.  "It used to be "Wow, we live right next to palm trees with REAL coconuts!" And now it is more like "That palm tree means that we live on the equator, with no seasons."  And then all of a sudden, I feel guilty.  This is the dream!  Palm trees!  Tropical-ness!  Ocean!  Coconuts!  Grass huts!  All the things!  I LIVE where people pay thousands of dollars to visit on vacation!

And then I open up my computer, and look at more pictures of fresh apple pie and pumpkins and scarves.  I feel pathetic.

Sitting in front of my fan, staring at a computer screen of my old life at home.  In Walla Walla.  Wherever my friends and loved ones are.  A rooster crows outside, and I wipe the sweat off my forehead.  Aren't I supposed to be taking pictures with local kids or having an experience that could later turn into a children's story at church?

Sometimes I feel like I am doing it wrong.  Like for sabbath yesterday, the pastor has been telling us that the youth group is bored and becoming jaded with their programs, such as vespers (which is very mechanical and is in need of new life) and the sundown service in the church.  Ryan and Tyler and I took it on to try and revolutionize the youth group and get them excited again.  We planned out a sundown worship where we would drive out to see the sunset, and sit on the grass and sing new, fun songs instead of hymns.  Tyler gave a short but insightful talk about Abraham and Isaac, and we tried our best to spark interest in the youth members sitting in the circle.  During the closing song, I played Stella as good as I could and led out in "My Chains are Gone" to try and breath new life into the routine of singing hymns for everything.  As the song ended, I saw that no one was singing and were all distracted by one of the babies doing something cute.  I offered a closing prayer and prepared to offer more songs as an afterglow that I thought were new and refreshing to the group.
"Um, we will sing some of our own old songs," said one of the youth.  "Sue-Lynn, you lead out and play the guitar."

I knew there was no harm meant in the suggestion, but I couldn't help but feel defeated.  "Oh, um, of course!  Go for it."  I put Stella back in her case and walked a few yards out of the group to look at the sunset.  The youth were singing at the top of their lungs behind me.

I knew that it wasn't something to get discouraged about, but I felt like I was doing something wrong.  Like they didn't need me, or they didn't want the change we were offering.


And then I look back at my screen and I miss the life still going on without me.  The life that I am familiar with, the life that I used to live in.  The life where I could play "My Chains are Gone" and everyone would sing along.  And pretty soon there are a monstrosity of thoughts pouring into my head, such as how nice it would be to have a home cooked meal of a wide range of nutritious food, and how our Christmas dinner will probably be canned-something with rice.

And even now as I write this, I just paused and had a moment of feeling guilty for even mentioning all of this.  But I think I need to get it out of my system, so I can begin the journey of immersing myself even farther into Kosrae without these distractions.

So for rebellion's sake, I will just come out and say it:

I miss the Great Northwest.
I miss Sprack, Elliott, Andrew, Mack, Justin, and all the bros.
I miss being 1.5 miles from Panda Express.
I miss leading worship.
I miss wearing long sleeves.
I miss the cold mountains.
I miss Haley Coon.
I miss watching football.
I miss seasons.
I miss my dogs.
I miss the Atlas at Walla Walla.
I miss relatively short church services.
I miss being able to understand conversations.
I miss family road trips and my family in general.
I miss full pantries.
I miss vegetables.
I loath roosters.
I loath the sample music that comes out of cheap Yamaha keyboards.

Whew.  There.  Maybe its out of my system.  Now hear me out.

This is my mission now:
To not let a day go by that I don't find beauty in something.
To not let a day go by that I don't find beauty in someone.
To remember where I am.
To always remember where I came from.
To feel small standing next to the ocean every night before bed.
To come home and be able to look back at my time in Kosrae, and not regret a single second of it.

I want to miss Kosrae badly.  I want to be sipping a pumpkin spice latte a year from now in Walla Walla and be looking at pictures on my computer screen, yearning to shed my sweater and live free and uncertain again in the place that ultimately made me strong:  The little 42-square mile Island of Kosrae.




 Peace from the tropics,

River