Five Months

It's been five months since I left Morocco.

I must admit that I hit the ground running after my time there. I immediately was thrown into the craziness surrounding wedding planning, then the actual madness of two weddings, then the stress surrounding home shopping and then the house closing and then the first days of work. These last months have been spent on adjusting to married life, Canadian life and post-university life. And so, Morocco has been left on the back burner. I simply didn't have time to let the implications of my departure settle. I was too excited to see Lucas again to really let the loss of friendship and cultural immersion really hit me. But now, as memories begin to resurface amidst the extreme quietness of my life, I am faced with the undeniable fact that I miss Morocco.

I had forgotten how cold Rabat had been in January and February. If I close my eyes, I can re-live the nerves and jitters I felt right before meeting my host family and the frustrations surrounding language learning. I still laugh at the intense culture shock experienced in the public baths (hammams) and those precious moments when I was able to love Moroccan children. I'm still fighting the extra pounds I gained thanks to the enormous appetite I found in Morocco and the delicious food that was constantly before me. And then my heart is burdened by the real pain I witnessed.

Glancing through my blog seems to press the "rewind" button. I feel that I could be there again, just by simply imagining and remembering it. And yet, these blogs were in no way comprehensive. How could I possibly express how dear of a friend Oumaima became to me? All of our sleepovers and pancake-making parties? How could I convey the loss of knowing that I'll never live there again? But having all these posts to click through, months after having left, is such a blessing. Moments that would probably have faded are immortalized in writing.

My ears perk up when I hear Arabic. There's a convenience store by my house and so far, all the men who work there speak Arabic. I learned they're from Iraq. I watched GirlRising last night and one of the girls is from Egypt. Though her story was heart-breaking, my heart swelled inside of me as I picked up several words from the authentic Egyptian dialogue.

I miss Morocco and the experiences I had while I was there. I desire to live outside of my own familiar cultures again. I cannot wait to consistently be surrounded by those different than I, that I may see my own culture and values through their lenses. I try to hold on to the small, precious lessons I learned from four months in that beautiful, beautiful country... Morocco.

The Restlessness of Inactivity

In our culture of drive-throughs, calendar apps and the need to develop outstanding resumes, periods of inactivity are dreaded-- perhaps feared? Ant it is in the middle of this culture, where I have been thrust into seemingly endless inactivity. My hear drops when asked what I do. I hate the "occupation" discussion. Simply put, I feel small and insignificant.

"Nothing. I don't do anything."

Yup. Small and insignificant.

And in the middle of this smallness and this insignificance, I've learned to wrestle through some mighty identity issues. Stripped of typical terms like "student" and "leader in...", I've struggled to pin down what I think I am and who I am... knowing that ultimately, I am not what I do, but functionally, that's all I've known. No, I am not meaningful because of my university coursework. No, I am not important because of my connections.

My jobs as front desk volunteer, visitor at an elderly home and a friend to a young five year old are not what give me meaning.

My dignity is (and must!) be deeply rooted in Jesus and Jesus alone. My ministry loving the elderly or my young friend is meaningful because of the God I serve. My ministry serving Lucas-- however mundane it may feel day in, and day out-- is powerful because of the God who brought us together.

Yes, I still stammer and feel flustered when asked what I do, but the true fact of the matter is that question is not my definer. Who I serve and what I love is a much more telling question. 

Dry Bones

I feel as though I am on a journey.
A long one.
Through the Valley of Dry Bones.

I feel the heat and notice as it drains the energy from my body. I look around and notice that the terrain on my left is so... the same... as the terrain on my right. I can't quite see the end of this Valley and the way up seems much too steep to climb up. Oh yeah, and the dry bones. That's all I see. The dry bones; they serve as the reminder of something that was living... alive... breathing and feeling... a long time ago. The bones that look so useless, so helpless and so wasted.

I step into the biblical pages of Ezekiel 37 and I can almost hear God ask, "Son of Man, can these bones live?"

Can they? My heart longs to  leap up with faith and claim that, yes, yes they can. But my eyes re-focus on the bones around me and I'm filled with discouragement. But clearly, telling God that no, they cannot live feels... wrong. So I sigh... only you know, O Sovereign LORD.

This season of long waiting for my visa has arrived. I have begun the fourth week and the dreariness has hit me-- full force. The minutes drag into hours which eventually drag into days and nothing feels urgent, because well, I can always do it tomorrow. I struggle to get out of bed, to shower, to change into different clothes. I keep my eyes wearily on the clock, hoping that Lucas will come home soon. And I lie awake while Lucas sleeps beside me, knowing that I can't possibly be tired at 10:00 when I crawled out of bed that morning at 9 am.

I'm struggling to trust God's timing, God's providence and God's goodness. I get hit with waves of strong emotions. I feel wasted, empty and useless. I get caught up in regrets, wishing that I had somehow figured out the visa process sooner. Wishing that if only I had tried harder, then maybe the visa would be here by now. Instead, I shrink away from the horrific reality of knowing that the completed visa application is sitting in my bedroom, waiting to be sent off.

Oh, I know the things that would make this better. I could go for a run, go outside and get some fresh air. I could listen to some sermons, read interesting books and pick up all kinds of fancy hobbies. Yet, I can't seem to find the motivation to do any of those. Its not in me anymore.

My heart yearns for Ezekiel's vision to come true in my life. I want to see these bones come to life-- a vast army. I want to experience and feel God's power beckoning me to life, to purpose, to meaning. And so I cling to hope in the Sovereign LORD.  Surely he who brought me to this valley will sustain me through it.