While we watched everything come together in Mae Sot and Bangkok, I don’t feel ready. I don’t feel ready to go, in the middle of sinking our teeth into so many good things.
I don’t really even feel ready to go back to America, probably for the first time ever.
I think it’s a combination of things.
I haven’t had time to overanalyze every aspect of our lives here and going back, and I certainly wish I did! I feel scattered as a person, and I find myself wishing I was more put together for a country that always seems so put together.
And—if I’m being brutally honest—America isn’t being very inviting right now. It’s heartbreaking to see the hatred in our country; the fear that is driving us forward.
As I watch others “return home” and not be allowed back into the country, I’m worried. Will they let me in? Will they let me back out?
To my advantage, I’m a white middle-class female, so I’m pretty likely to be let in or out.
And that, perhaps, is the least comforting of all.
That is not the America I was raised in. I was raised in a country that invited in the poor and huddled masses. I was raised in country that said we were all created equal, with the freedom to pursue life, liberty, and happiness.
I don’t know what I’m coming back to; but it isn’t what I left. I don’t know when it changed. I don’t know who it’s changed.
But the God that loves us enough to let me jump off that tuktuk in the middle of nowhere and find Musana jumping into my arms for a hug—He’s the same God that sees the largest refugee crisis the world has ever known. He’s the same God that sees minorities, races, genders, and religions being oppressed, and it is nothing new under the sun. He is the same God that saw the Roman empire rise and fall. He is the same God that knows the hairs on my head as well as theirs. He hasn’t changed.
Can I just say this: America, I’m not ready for you. I’m a bit terrified of you.
But God was clearly ready for us to head your way, for such a time as this it seems.
So I’m hoping he has as many miracles on the continent ahead of us as the one we’re leaving behind.
One more miracle before we left: I finished this painting in our house this week, nothing short of six months after starting it.
And perhaps it’s even more applicable now than it was then.
Note: I’m not starting an argument; I’m not picking a side. I’m not even going to allow negative comments to post. I know some of these fears are irrational or irrelevant. Instead, I’m just sharing thoughts on returning to the US in such a season, and to state quite simply two things I know—I’m not ready, but God is good.