Near the End

This is the last week of Tea House. The last week of Bamako really, because we head out for Dogon country and Timbucto a week from today. And then in two weeks we get on the plane and head for Paris. Time is closing in, reality is pushing through. I feel older and younger, Stronger and more fragile, wiser and more confused. I realize that I've focused mainly on what I've been learning from God and I haven't been good at explaining how I've felt or what life has been like. I have a feeling that that might hurt me when I get back. It scares me that people might not understand. So I'd like to take a stab at explaining everything- the good, the beautiful, the hard, the ugly.

These six months I've grown a lot. And I've learned a lot. And I've loved a lot. And that has all been good. In those terms, these six months have been the best of my life. But I've also struggled a lot. I've been stripped and exposed and vulnerable. Misunderstood and lost and helpless. Those who know me best know my flaws and my strengths and my personality. I'm too independent. God broke me of that. And I'm too prideful. He broke that too. I'm way too self sufficient. He took that from me. And that was really painful. It's been this process and I haven't really had anyone here who's been able to understand it. Because no one here knows me, they don't know my past and my weaknesses and my pride issues. So in a lot of ways, even though I've been surrounded by a team. I've been on my own. And I tried to stand. I tried to move. And He pushed me down. I still feel like I'm laying there helpless sometimes. That's where I need to be. I didn't fully understand that I can't do anything at all on my own. And that everything that I have done- it hasn't been because I'm this awesome person. It's been because I have an awesome God. So He took away my ability to function normally, my ability to take care of myself.

Africa for me has meant loss of language, loss of health, loss of people, loss of normalcy, loss of schedule, and friends and family and food and stability. I've moved four times. I've slept in five beds. I've had five different roommates. I've eaten roasted termites and toe and slimy gravy and killed chickens and eaten questionable parts of them out of dirty bowls from dirty hands. I've been eaten by mosquitos, watched people get really sick- I've been really sick. And that's just the surface. I don't have freedom to leave unaccompanied. I don't have anywhere to go anyways. I can't order food at restaurants bc it's in a different language. I can't build relationships with the people because we can't communicate and because my culture offends them. I can't look men in the eyes, can't use my left hand, can't wear normal clothes. I walk around knowing that every second I'm doing something wrong- something that doesn't align with their culture and their ideals. And even though I know that I'm not quite right, I don't know what it is that makes it wrong. I walk outside of my gate and I'm on one of the busiest streets in Bamako. I fall asleep to traffic and malian radio and yelling and honking. And I wake up in the morning not wanting to engage in a world that I don't understand. It's like I'm playing this game and I don't know the rules and no one will explain them to me. I feel like a child with no mother to show me what life is, what it looks like. Then I live with five people who are completely different from me. And in some ways I feel like an old woman compared to them and where their at and where they've been in life. But they're all I have, and I have no where to go. I don't even know how to get anywhere because that means I have to talk to Malians. I've had to say goodbye to the teammate I was closest to. To watch her leave and go back home while deep down that's all I wanted to do too. It took me a month to get over that. And I've had to learn how to love people that I didn't want to. I had to learn humility and I had to accept that I can no longer take care of myself here. I eat what other people cook me, I do what other people plan for me, I dress the way that the culture allows me to, I rely on others to communicate for me. I can not be myself. There goes my independence. And that's still the surface. Because then I go deeper into my experience and I've had to learn what love is. And what wisdom and relationships look like. And I've looked back and reflected on my life in the states and God has shown me some hard areas that I need to work on. And some relationships that have deeply hurt me that I've had to face. And the ones I've built on the team- I don't know what to do with them when I get back. Because now those people are close to my heart. But I didn't have time for the friends I had already. My days consist of talking to people I don't know at a tea shop that is hot and drab. Chatting. That's my ministry. There goes my pride. And I have to take naps because it's so hot that I don't sleep well. And even if I do sleep well, I'm so drained from being in a place that is constantly rubbing me the wrong way and forcing me to not act as myself that I still need a nap. I'm not only physically exhausted here, I'm emotionally and Spiritually as well. I have not had stability here. I haven't had a place of my own. I haven't had a Tasha spot or Tasha time or anything Tasha.

Tasha doesn't really exist here. And that's been so good. Getting past myself.

But now I'm so tired. And I'm not sure how to start again. I'm at the end of six months and all I want is to go someplace safe. Someplace that I understand. And I want to curl up and just lay there and be. And not have to worry or think or anything. And I want to be with people who speak my language and who speak to my heart. I don't want to have to explain my personality or my thoughts or my past. I want someone to take care of me. It would be so hard to be a missionary. I don't know that I'm strong enough to do that. And the thought of going back to everyone and everything. It's so incredibly overwhelming. Because now that I've been in Africa, I've moved past America. And I'm not the same that I was. But I don't know how to explain what's different. And I don't want to answer a lot of questions or smile a lot of smiles or hug a lot of people. I just want to be home. With my family, with my house, with my yard. And I want to relish being in a familiar place. I don't really know how to handle it. I feel like I'm going to hurt people when I get back because I don't have much to offer right now. I don't have anything to give. And people are going to hurt me. Most people would look at my time here and think that I could have done so much more. I could have had such a better experience. But I think that's underestimating the simple act of being somewhere you weren't made for. Thats so much in and of itself. I don't want to face those words or those comments. And I don't know how to explain what I really lived here. I don't know what I want. I just want security. But I need to find it in Him. I might need help doing that though.

I've just used "I" way too many times. And after re-reading this it sounds like I've had a terrible time here. That's not true. I have loved being here- I have loved growing and learning and being challenged. God has been so good to me. He's been patient and unrelenting and near. I can't wait to see everyone again, to cry and laugh and talk. I just want to apologize ahead of time. I might need a little more patience and understanding than usual. Know that my heart is so excited to be with you all again.

Side note:

This week I jumped off a cliff into a lake, sat in a waterfall, swam with fish, ate a fish head... and eye, and had way too much watermelon. It's been great.