The Shock of Reverse Culture Shock

"It'll never happen to me."

"I've read about it, I know about it, I know how to avoid it."

"I've lived in America for 27 years. What is there to be shocked about?"

"I've gone to this church for 11 years. No way my 'place' can become an insecurity in two months."

"My friends can't change that much in two months."

"Africa will be different. Not America."

These are all things I told myself before I left for Africa. Even though I had read missionary blogs, had spoken with people about their experiences, and even had the missionaries I was working with in South Africa tell me that I was going to go through reverse culture shock, I didn't believe them. In fact, I thought this knowledge was going to prevent me from going through this. Boy, was I wrong.

So, so, so, so wrong. 

My travel back to the states was anything but fun. I spent a total of 24 hours on a plane returning from Africa, and another 10 hours in airports. That is a long stinking time. So I thought that when I arrived baack in America, everything would be fine. I would be ok just as long as I was back on home turf. 

Wrong.

When I arrived in the JFK airport in New York I got confused by the bathroom terminology and kept asking where the toilets were. In the bathroom, duh. And gross! Stop asking about toilets. The terminal I arrived in and the terminal I left from were not the same thing, so I had to take a bus to the other terminal. As I got onto the bus I noted that the driver was on the wrong side of the bus. Oh, well, sometimes places do that because it's easier on them somehow. Whatever. But then, another vehicle came at us from the other direction. And all of a sudden, I realized that I didn't know which side of the road it was supposed to pass us on, and I thought we were going to crash. Once the bus passed us, I also realized that the driver was on the correct side of the bus. 

Uh-oh. 

Once safely in Atlanta, I was relieved just to get into the car with my dad and go home. That is, until we were about 30 minutes down the road. And then I just. couldn't. wear. a. seatbelt. any. longer. I had a mini-panic attack right there in the car. (24 hours of seatbelts will do that to you.) It was a two-hour ride home. Make that 26 hours of seatbelts. I also found that I couldn't watch the other side of the road, because I felt like they were wrong. 

Over the next few weeks there were things that continually overwhelmed me. I had a difficult time driving for a while because I couldn't figure out which lane was the fast lane. I occupied the middle lane for about a month. There were times that turning left stressed me the heck out. Once in the middle of Wal-Mart I froze because they had entirely too many canned goods. And I continually called the bathroom a "toilet." 

The point is, nothing can really prepare you for reverse culture shock. And nobody can cure it for you. Thankfully I had friends who were willing to be there for me when I was so overwhelmed that I felt like I couldn't function. When I realized that my friends had continued to live their lives without me in my absence. Friends who let me know it was ok to feel insecure and that I would one day regain my footing in my relationships. And I am so grateful for those people. There were also people who didn't understand, and that's ok.

If there is anything that I have learned, it's this:

Never assume you're too good for anything. Just because you're informed doesn't mean it won't happen to you.

2. Know when to ask for help. I am in counseling right now and it's the best decision I could have made.

3. Every experience is different. Everyone will go through reverse culture shock in their own way, so assuming that your experience should be like theirs or that someone should deal with it like you did is wrong.

4. Don't be afraid to admit to your friends when you're having a difficult time. There were times when my friends didn't understand me (especially in those first few weeks) that I wish I had asked them to have patience with me, I wasn't exactly certain what continent I was on.

Today I feel like I am finally settling into a new normal. I can never go back to the way things were, but that is ok. I wouldn't trade Africa for anything.

And I swear that there are monkeys in my neighborhood late at night. Until I get close enough to see that they're cats. But I swear, they're monkeys. 

This one time when I went to South Africa and was never the same

For those who may or may not know, I recently returned from spending two months in South Africa. Man, that feels weird to say. (There are several posts about why I was going and somewhat of what happened while I was there. If I were blog-savvy, they would be linked here. But, alas, you must scroll down my homepage to see those posts.) Some of you may have also noticed that I didn't post a lot about what happened. A few have asked, others have waited for me to bring it up.

Let's be honest, there may be some of you who gave me money and are wondering why. What did I do, go on a two month vacation?! Paid for by my friends and family?! Don't worry, I don't begrudge you those questions. I understand them completely. And, if you'll allow, I hope to address them.

August 1 I flew out of Atlanta and started the journey to South Africa. Let me tell you, it was an adventure getting there. One which I chose to withhold until I returned for the sake of everyone's nerves. Let's just say, New York City and I aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. Although it is a pretty funny story.

So the first week we spent going to schools and meeting the locals. During the evenings we attended a conference being held at the Life Church (who we were there to serve) Wednesday evening through Sunday morning. Sunday morning was their four year anniversary, and it was amazing getting to celebrate with all of the new faces I had been praying for, for so long.

The following week I found out that a few things had occured during some of the services, and long story short, the church ended up having to shut its doors for good.

Thankfully because I had not been at the church for a long time, I was not emotionally wounded by what happened, but was greatful to be in South Africa to help the pastor's family. For a while before I left people had asked me what I was going to do, and I didn't have any straight answers. I believe that this was so that I didn't go with expectations, just to have them crushed. The Lord knew what was going to happen and had me there to help the pastor's family through the transition, as well as teaching me some things about myself (which I will share in a later post).

Thank you so much to everyone who supported me and gave. I was able to see some of the ministries that are happening in and around Durban, was able to help out at a local high school for a while, and most impoortantly was there for a family that was hurting and just needed the hands of Jesus. I could not have done it without you.

(And please, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.)

Africa Update 3: On Western Perceptions

I was told by Pr. Greg yesterday that we would be going to an orphanage this morning, but not a whole lot of details about the place itself.

I want you to think for a moment what you might expect, what thoughts run through your head when you hear "orphanage" in an African country.

Now bear in mind that I had the benefit of knowing that South Africa is nowhere near the same as many of the other countries, nothing like "Kisses from Katie."

But still, nothing prepared me for what I was about to see.

Instead of orphans, I found ...

Adoption.

I found the lonely placed in families.

I found six small, beautiful faces who don't have to wonder if they're ever going to be adopted, ever going to be loved enough to be given a forever family.

Apparently the Ingani Yami Children's Village is modeled after the Watoto school in Uganda. If you've never heard of them, you should definitely look them up!

The point of the village is not to just have orphans, but instead they bring in mothers who adopt the children. They are allowed to have no more than a total of six children, biological children included. (I think that number is correct.) The village has built homes for them where they have bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. A real home.

But let's be real, here. I'm a Westerner. I was expecting tons of little brown children, running around, looking for someone to adopt them, but instead found just six little ones, who are totally content in their homes because they have already been adopted. And just for a moment, I was selfish. Just for a moment, I wished that I had seen a traditional orphanage.

And just as quickly as that thought came, I heard The Lord in my spirit whispering that this is so much better. The beauty of adoption is His plan! These children are blessed more than they can know.  And instead of wishing that they were like the others, I wish that every orphanage looked like this one. I wish that every child knew that they are worth someone leaving their own community, moving to where the need is, and adopting beautiful little children. Showing them that they are precious in the sight of God.

Today, I didn't see an orphanage.

I saw a little glimpse of heaven.

Africa Update 2 - Learning to be still

I am a social butterfly. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love to be in the middle of the activity. And not only in it, but usually somehow organizing it. I love people. (Although I do require my alone time.)

Last week when my mom and Jessica were here, we were going like crazy. The few times that we had as down times, we would absolutely crash and just lay there. I was never lonely. I was never awake long enough to be lonely. And apparently when I'm tired enough, I snore. Sorry, Jessica.

Jessica left on Friday afternoon, and my mom left on Saturday afternoon. After that we still had a night of conference and Sunday morning to go, which kept me busy still. Monday was a break day, which I think we all so needed. A day at the mall, eating some awesome italian food, just chilling, were all perfect. The next day was also fun as I got to back to the secondary school and see a lot of the students, hang out with my new friend Crystal and her family, eat some good Indian food what! and come home exhausted.

And sick. 

Ugh, it seems like I can't switch seasons without my body deciding that it needs to have a cold. And here in Durban, it's winter. Well ... it feels more like fall to me. But it's definitely not the boiling summer I just came out of in Georgia. And while that feels good, my sinuses decided they needed some adaptation time.

So Wednesday, I stayed at home sick. And was so. stinking. bored.

I'm not good at being sick. I'm not good at just resting. But I learned multiple things that day:

1. There was nothing I could do about it. Just because I didn't want to be sick didn't make a difference. The best thing I could do was rest.

2. God still has a plan. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is where I'm supposed to be, so even having to be still for a day is in His control. In fact, it's a lesson I probably really needed to learn.

3. I could wallow, or I could make something of it. I decided to listen to sermons from Bethel church, download Lisa Bevere's new book Girls With Swords, read my bible, accomplish some journaling and other things I had meant to do, etc. I had more options than just having a pity party. I sent out invitations to my pity party and nobody came!

4. Even though the enemy might like me to think so, I am not forgotten! Several friends from home randomly contacted me that day to let me know that they were thinking of and praying for me. I think it was God's way of giving me a little surprise. Because He loves to do that!

Even after that day, I still haven't been terribly busy this week, but that's ok. I've had some unique experiences but also have just lived life. I've been able to really build a friendship with Kristen, Pr. Greg's wife (who encouraged me to blog again! Thanks!), love on their three children, and just spend some time getting to really live day to day. As I was babysitting yesterday I was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that sometimes being on the mission field means hanging out with three little boys and building sand castles with them in the sand box. In fact, a lot of times life on the mission field isn't glamor or crazy awesome stories, it's just living your life out loud for Jesus right where you are.

And for some people, the right where you are includes a gorgeous city named Durban, in the beautiful country of South Africa. And you get amazed all over again that God chose you to be a part of an amazing story.

Africa Update 1

Hello from South Africa!

I'm sitting here on my bed in the bed and breakfast I will be staying in while I am here. It's rather gorgeous here. In South Africa. You know, where I live for two months. What the heck?!

It's been a little crazy getting here. Jessica, my mom, and I flew to New York and then had an 11 hour layover in JFK. I do NOT recommend that. Sorry JFK, but you're miserable.

Jessica and I then continued to Dubai with a twelve and a half hour flight. Dear heavens. We then had one more flight to Durban, which was only eight hours. Only.

When thinking about coming here, I had a lot of fears and presumptions about what my feelings and reactions to things would be. I assumed that I would cry when I got off the plane, being overwhelmed with the emotions of being in Africa. I was overwhelmed, all right.

By the 350 people in line for passport stamps.

When we walked through and saw Pr. Greg, the only thing I could think of was a bed. I didn't cry. I was happy, but I didn't cry. And then when we did ministry, I assumed I would fall in love with the people of Durban.

Ok, that was correct. I love them. I am already sad that I am only staying for two months. (Although I'm sure we'll revisit those feelings later.)

We visited a secondary school (like a high school) and a foundations school (Pre-K through second grade) and all of those beautiful children stole my heart. I'd like to put them all in my suitcase, but something tells me customs wouldn't see things my way.

And then I realized my largest source of nerves: the church.

I love my church. New Hope has been my home for 10 years, and the thought of going to something completely unfamiliar was a hard thought to bear. Leaving my spirit-filled, crazy people made me so nervous. So last night we had our first service. And dear heavens were my fears unfounded.

I felt like I was home. God spoke to my heart and let me know that He had guided every step of my way, and no way was He going to make go to a church whose heart didn't beat in rhythm to His. We sang "Break every chain" (CC I obviously thought of you!) and Holy Spirit was so powerful. There was a moment that Pr. Greg called everyone down front who wanted their chains broken and I stood in a place of freedom, but feeling like I should go down. God spoke to my heart and said "it doesn't matter if you're free, they're not. And either these people are your church whom you will fight alongside for two months or they're not."

So I got my butt to the front. And the moment I stepped up there I realized that these are the people I have been praying for, for a year and a half. The people at the altar had consumed my thoughts for the past year and a half, and I was literally standing in the promises of God.

And then the tears came.

... But why SOUTH Africa?

Sorry, folks, I promised a blog on Saturday and didn't deliver.

I don't know why I promised one on a Saturday, apparently I had high aspirations for my motivation. Haha ohhhh silly me ;)

Ok so, to answer the question I know you're all anxiously awaiting (you probably haven't thought about much else) is why South Africa. And just know, this blog is long.

Before I give you a straight answer, let me back up a few years for a brief second.

About 8 years ago I was a freshman entering college at Georgia College and State University (if you're an alumnus and didn't sing the name of the college in your head as you read it, I'm gonna need you to think hard about your priorities.) I was involved in a ministry on campus called the Wesley foundation. Well, involved is putting it a little lightly. I lived, breathed, and dreamed Wesley. But this isn't about that. My freshman year two upperclassmen in Wesley introduced me to the appalling issue of human trafficking. An issue that holds more than 29 million people captive.

29 million.

Just sit back for a moment and let that fact hit you. 29 million people still in slavery. And a good deal of them in SEXUAL slavery.

But as much as I would love to tell you all about my heart and about the atrocities of human trafficking, I'll have to save that blog for another day. Just know that the issue captured my heart and I knew that I couldn't just sit back and pretend that I didn't care. Now that I knew, I was responsible.

So fast forward to April of 2013. I was in choir at my church and doing the normal routine. Because the choir arrives at the church around 7:45am for the first service and generally stays through the second service, most of them go back into the choir suite after getting off stage and chat through the sermon of the first service. They then will sit through the sermon of the second service in the sanctuary. But there was one Sunday that was different.

A pastor by the name of Greg Evans was at our church from his church in Durban, South Africa and was telling us about the outreach that he does to the strip clubs around his church. And I don't mean that his church all gets in the church bus and travels a couple of miles down the road to go minister to the strip clubs; his church is literally in the middle of a bunch of strip clubs.

Because Jesus loves strippers.

And strip club owners.

And their patrons.

If you don't believe me, I shall direct your attention to John 3:16, where God so loved the world. Not just the sanctified. Not just the pretty. Not just the Christians who can pretend really well that they have all of their crap together. EVERYONE. (And I think that's pretty flipping cool.)

So as I am sitting there in the choir suite, and everyone is oddly quiet and listening to this guy who is blowing apart a lot of pre-conceived notions about what living your life as a Christian should look like.

And I felt The Lord whisper into my spirit "Go."

I was so excited that I looked up plane tickets and timing of when I wanted to go. I felt like Jesus wanted me to be there over my birthday, to give up a day normally all about me to minister to others.

After the second service (which I loved just as much as the first!) I briefly met Pr Greg and told him I'd love to visit his church. He was very gracious and said that any of our church was welcome to come to Durban to work with his church.

Immediately I began to make plans to go to South Africa and really felt like the fall of 2013 was my time to go. And then things started not looking good.

First, the trip was at the end of September, not on my birthday. Ok, that was fine, I was disappointed but could handle it. And then I found out the trip wasn't going to Durban, but another church that we partner with in Nelspruit, Again I was bummed, but I figured that God knew what He was doing.

And then I found out that I wouldn't be able to take off of work. And that the money just wasn't coming in. And I was devastated.

The day that the mission team flew out to South Africa I went to the airport to see them off. I was sitting next to an amazing friend and mentor who I am so glad was there that day. Because really, when isn't it awesome to have Paula Lambert around?! So I was sitting there watching my team be excited. And take pictures. And go through security.

Without me.

I pulled my gigantic sunglasses over my eyes (because people definitely couldn't tell by my red face and quivering lip that I was crying at all) and tried to be brave. But on the inside I was so hurt and confused and angry.

And Paula turned to me and spoke words of life.

She said "Erin, do not be discouraged. You will be in South Africa next year. Look at your desire. Look at your tears. That is where your heart longs to be and God will not deny you that. He called you there and you are going."

Dear heavens I love her.

I went home and tried to be excited every time I saw a member of the team post photos of South Africa, but it was hard. I wanted to be there so badly.

For the next few months I kind of shut down the voice of The Lord and allowed myself to become preoccupied with other things to take my mind off of my hurt and disappointment. But then Jesus called me back to Himself and after an intense time of prayer I gave my desire for Africa to Him.

And then one morning I woke up and just knew that I was supposed to go, and for longer than just the two weeks. I was supposed to go for two months.

I approached my missions pastor and he was all for it. I told my best friend and my youth pastor's wife and they were all for it. I emailed Pr Greg and he was for it. Actually I received his "yes" email in my car one day during lunch at work and FREAKED out. I cried and knew that The Lord had so much greater for me than I could have ever planned.

I told my work and they were hugely supportive (although it did mean turning in my five month notice.) And my friends and family are all behind me 100%. I couldn't ask for more. I am so glad that I followed the will of The Lord and am walking in His calling, not my own.

So I'm going to Africa. And it's going to be the start of something that I can only imagine.

Two Weeks WHAT?!

Dear heavens this time in two weeks I will be on a plane heading to South Africa. Well, first New York. And then Dubai. And THEN South Africa. After 36 hours of travel. =/

But I'm going with my mom and one of my close friends!! I'm beyond excited to be going with Jessica Seigler, one of the friends whose heart beats to a similar rhythm as mine.

Ok so, probably the reason that y'all are returning to read this, is to get part 2 of yesterday's cliff-hanger. (Did you like that?) ;)

So let's see, at the end of yesterday's blog I was talking about God telling me I was going to be a missionary.

After school that day I remember going home and telling my mom and dad about what Jesus had told me. And since this was an international bible college, there was a man visiting my parents who was from somewhere in Africa. (Don't ask me where. I have no clue.)

Once I told them the story, I remember him turning to me and inviting me to visit him in Africa when I got older. (I should probably figure out where that is, come to think of it ...)

There it was. My first invitation to Africa. And I was pretty intrigued by that.

A few years later my family was living in Atlanta and ministering at a church there. A family from Kenya was there and I just took to them. Pr. Shahasi taught me some swahili and invited me to visit him in Kenya.

And the second invitation.

Zachariah Shahasi has an orphanage, school, and church near Nairobi. He went with our pastor from the church to scope out and buy the land, and they returned with vials of dirt from the property. They set up the vials and anyone who gave to the church plant was able to take a vial with them. The only other stipulation to taking the vial was that we one day also visit Kenya and bring the vial with us, pouring out the dirt on the land that it came from.

I have kept that dirt for years as the physical promise from God that I will one day go to Africa. But even though I had an invitation to two different countries, there was not anywhere that was really tugging on my heart.

And then last April, South Africa squirmed its way into my heart and I have not been able to shake it. I have woken up every morning since then, wishing I was in South Africa. And in two weeks, I will be.

God is so good.

And for the rest of the story ... tune in tomorrow. =)

T minus 15 days

I have tried to write this blog countless times.

I have tried putting different words together in an effort to communicate my excitement, but have discovered that it is impossible to really make you feel what I feel.

So I will just let it be known:

I'm going to South Africa in 15 days.


If you're my friend you've probably seen the bajillion posts (is that a word? Because I swear I've said it since I was probably two.) I've had about my Go Fund Me, praying for me, my excitement over all of the crazy developments, etc. But there is a story which I haven't shared up until now, that I would like to tell you.

It's the story of Africa.

No, not the development of countries, the history of South Africa, or the colonization of Durban (where I am going.) It is my God story of Africa, the place where my heart has longed to be for so long that it's ridiculous.

It's my story of God and Africa.

When I seven years old my family lived in Dallas, Texas at Christ For The Nations Institute. (If any of you have heard my Jonas brothers stories, how I knew their family and was convinced that I was going to one day marry Kevin, that is where this was.) It is a famous bible college attended by people from all over the world. When I was young they had CFNA, which was for the children of the students on campus, and also had student housing which we lived in.

I lived there from the time I was 5-7 years old, and I believe the beginning of my story started when I was around the age of 7.

Because the school was on campus, and my older sister attended the private school as well, we were allowed to walk to school without our parents. There was always a large group of us kids walking in the mornings from the apartments to the school. One day as I was walking I heard

"Erin."

I stopped and looked around, but didn't see anyone in my immediate vicinity. I was walking on the other side of the street from my sister, because she was just too cool for me, and was too far away to be loud enough for the voice that I heard. Since I didn't hear anyone I assumed it was just my imagination and kept walking.

And then I heard it again

"Erin."

I turned around and asked my sister if she had called my name, but of course her answer was somewhere along the lines of "No, of course not! You're lame." Or you know, something along those lines that a big 9 year-old sister says to her little 7 year-old sister. So I shrugged it off and continued walking. Finally I heard it one last time

"Erin."

Now mind you, I'm 7 years old, going to a Christian school, having been practically born on a pew. So at this point in my child-like innocence I finally figure out what's going on and simply look up and respond

"God?" figuring that He is repeating His Samuel story with me.

And He's God, so of course He doesn't disappoint. In response I simply hear

"You're going to be a missionary."

And that's where Africa began.

(tune back in tomorrow for more!)

The most awkward book of the Bible? Awesome. Let's go.

I love Song of Solomon! I know, it's weird. It's the most awkward book of the Bible.

Take a moment and consider whether or not precious moments included it in their translation ...

And on that note, here's why I love it: it's a love song. A love song to ME. And to YOU. (Yes, even you males out there.) 

I was created for romance. I love Pride and Prejudice. I love when Mr. Darcy lays down his pride and confesses to Miss Elizabeth that he is in love with her. That makes my heart melt into a puddle. But tha'ts nothing compared to the love that my Savior has for me.

Song of Solomon used to really freak me out, let's be real here. I had to grow to learn to love it. But there was one line that I wanted to love and yet didn't totally get. SoS 4:9 says "You have captivated my heart, my sister, my bride; you have captivated my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace. " I didn't get this. I wanted to believe that God could really love me even if I only glance at Him, but what makes me think that I can just glance up and He'll love me? Obviously (in my human understanding) I needed to perform correctly, and say everything perfectly, and as long as my life was tracking, then He would probably love me when I looked at Him. Not guaranteed, but you know. I'd have a fair shot.

And then I met this little human named Josiah. And I fell head-over-heels in love. He was born around 1:00am. And I waited with his family until he was born. And I couldn't leave. I had to hold that child. Every time I see him I just want to gobble him up. And the thing is, he doesn't always want to see me. He doesn't always want to be chased by me. But when he turns around and looks at me, I'm really glad he has no concept of money. Because in that moment when he looks and calls me by the totally wrong name, I'd give him all I have. I love that child. The love that our Heavenly Father has? It's SO much more amplified. Josiah isn't my child. We're not even related. So how much more does the Father love me than I love Josiah? 

I'll challenge you: ask Jesus what He thinks of you. His love will blow your face away. Let Him chase you, and turn around and chase Him back. This huge God, who is far beyond comprehension, has promised to let Himself be found when we seek Him. And in the morning, just take time to love Him. He doesn't need big words. He doesn't need eloquent prayers. Just turning your gaze upon Him captivates His heart. Turn your full time and attention on Him. I promise you will NEVER regret it.