I have had a refreshing drink of Cholera On-the-Go (for the busy traveller), and I'm reading some Central African history and feeling very intellectual.
And burping.
Tomorrow, I think my church family will pray and send me off.
I always imagine this as someone cracking a bottle of champagne on my hip and pushing me off a pier. So it's understandable that I'm vaguely worried.
I don't mind the going, as such. It's just all the preparations - the medical results coming back clear, all the forms filled and then scanned and sent, then visa documents, then missing my passport something fierce, then wanting my contacts, then realizing how much I have to pack, creating a bio about myself and my passions, saying goodbye - that slowly drive me mad.
If I didn't have all this stuff and if I never made a concerted effort to stay in Canada, I'd never face this; I'd always be ready to go. I wouldn't care if people wanted to be involved in overseas ministry - I'd shake the slush off my boots and head out.
Instead, I wait in the uneasy eye of the storm until I suddenly hear from God that I have to Go, go, schnell, andale! and then my entire brain is on fire with thoughts and plans for leaving, only without all the work that comes along with it. I imagine scenarios in which my congregation fasts and prays for various countries - no snacks or Christian rock involved - just determined prayer for the body of Christ all over the world. Then my jerk of an imagination leaves all the hard work for my practical brain (which rarely stays awake during communal prayer, much less approves of the regular not-eating-of-food).
Like packing. Putting off taxes legally. Re-learning a language for the 93rd time. Finding ways to pack 2 years of just in cases into just two cases. Saving all pertinent papers/clothes/items bought in bulk on sale in a specific location and under a label that I will understand two years from now and not Top Left Drawer* Sharing why - why there, why now, why me - so that people know it's not me at all.
I think it was the Vial O'Cholera I just chugged that got to me.
Two weeks until I leave all the comforts of home in exchange for service in a culture that I cannot begin to understand.
Before which, I have to explain in a thousand different ways why.
It's not something that springs from the goodness of my heart. It's not because I love to travel. It's not because I feel guilty for my life in the West.
I'll work on an explanation that sounds more rational than God wants me to go and I only have abundant life when I am in His will.
*Actual label on one of my boxes in the basement
And burping.
Tomorrow, I think my church family will pray and send me off.
I always imagine this as someone cracking a bottle of champagne on my hip and pushing me off a pier. So it's understandable that I'm vaguely worried.
I don't mind the going, as such. It's just all the preparations - the medical results coming back clear, all the forms filled and then scanned and sent, then visa documents, then missing my passport something fierce, then wanting my contacts, then realizing how much I have to pack, creating a bio about myself and my passions, saying goodbye - that slowly drive me mad.
If I didn't have all this stuff and if I never made a concerted effort to stay in Canada, I'd never face this; I'd always be ready to go. I wouldn't care if people wanted to be involved in overseas ministry - I'd shake the slush off my boots and head out.
Instead, I wait in the uneasy eye of the storm until I suddenly hear from God that I have to Go, go, schnell, andale! and then my entire brain is on fire with thoughts and plans for leaving, only without all the work that comes along with it. I imagine scenarios in which my congregation fasts and prays for various countries - no snacks or Christian rock involved - just determined prayer for the body of Christ all over the world. Then my jerk of an imagination leaves all the hard work for my practical brain (which rarely stays awake during communal prayer, much less approves of the regular not-eating-of-food).
Like packing. Putting off taxes legally. Re-learning a language for the 93rd time. Finding ways to pack 2 years of just in cases into just two cases. Saving all pertinent papers/clothes/items bought in bulk on sale in a specific location and under a label that I will understand two years from now and not Top Left Drawer* Sharing why - why there, why now, why me - so that people know it's not me at all.
I think it was the Vial O'Cholera I just chugged that got to me.
Two weeks until I leave all the comforts of home in exchange for service in a culture that I cannot begin to understand.
Before which, I have to explain in a thousand different ways why.
It's not something that springs from the goodness of my heart. It's not because I love to travel. It's not because I feel guilty for my life in the West.
I'll work on an explanation that sounds more rational than God wants me to go and I only have abundant life when I am in His will.
*Actual label on one of my boxes in the basement
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At the risk of sounding desperate - PLEASE WRITE TO ME!