Wednesday, August 22, 2012

One Year Later - “And if you have a minute, why don’t we go & talk about it, somewhere only we know?”

A funny thing happened to me last month. My friend Jen and I decided to take a drive to Hoboken for a girls’ night. We traded laughs and stories of our current struggles and successes, until (mid-giggle) a pair of gentlemen approached our table and pried our focus away from each other. A few minutes into my new conversation, the guy I was talking to said something that astounded me and, as naturally as ever, “YHO!” rolled out of my mouth, as a sign of astonishment. The South African colors of my heart were showing, literally bursting out of my mouth, impossible to contain; just like my New Jersey driving, I take those colors with me wherever I go, eternally proud. Well, somewhere between the noise of the establishment we were in and the fact that “yho!” is just not a common expression around here, I spent the next few minutes trying to convince this man that I had not just rudely exclaimed “Yuck!” in his face. Apparently, the argument that I (some blonde Jersey girl sitting in Hoboken) was speaking South African [English] was not convincing. In any event, the conversation didn’t continue much after that, but the takeaway lesson I learned left a lasting impression. You see, this story is not about being misunderstood; it’s about the love that understands. There are a lot of people I love who will probably never get to even set foot in the Rainbow Nation, but because they’ve loved me along the way and they support me in my continuing journey, they embrace, expect & welcome the stories I tell so frequently from that beloved chapter of my life. Some of them have even picked up a few of my favorite foreign phrases (and learned to expect my classic Afrikaanse toast) over the course of this last year.



I have been dreading this day: the day when I have to admit that it has been a full calendar year since I boarded that plane back to the home of the World’s Greatest Drivers and the winding, hillcresting, roads where my childhood lives. Something about this 365th day makes South Africa seem farther away than it did on the 364th or the 363rd ; it’s like being on a road trip and after a few hundred mile-markers, suddenly crossing a state-line. One more ordinary step down the road has suddenly been made a thousand times more meaningful because of some stick in the ground with a big colored sign on it. In the end, isn’t it really just a line in the sand?

Getting off that plane last year with my heavy heart and starting this new chapter of my life, I didn’t have high expectations. I was excited to resume the ordination process where I had left off and thrilled beyond words to see my US loved ones again, but I was not excited to enter what would I was sure would be some awkward space between South Africa and seminary, full of waiting and reverse culture shock - the intermission between acts of the thrilling show that is my life. Well, at this milestone, I can honestly say that nothing about this year has resembled some block of awkward downtime!

I’m writing all of this right here, right now, after all of this time of bloglessness because I think it’s important to note that my journey did not end when I got off that plane, jetlagged and emotionally overwhelmed, in beautiful Newark, NJ. As Harry, our parish warden and an all-around rock star, said so simply and so beautifully, when I finished the South Africa presentation I gave to my parish; “This is only the beginning!” This year has been full of familiar faces and well-known places, but everything’s been filled with this new wonder and new richness. It’s just like I learned in Mission Personnel Orientation back before I left for South Africa: you have to expand your comfort zone - push your limits beyond your usual shape and broaden yourself to make space so you can comfortably incorporate all of the richness that a new world can offer you. It’s like putting an addition on your house; while it requires a great amount of time and energy, when all’s said and done, you don’t just have something that looks a little different to passers by, you’ve got a ton more living space. With all the living space I came back with, it’s no wonder that I approached all of my old roles, routines, and relationships with more sparkle (sparkling platinum stars, wink-wink), more wisdom, and an even richer heart than before South Africa.

So, what kind of stuff have I been up to? Through committees and interviews and paperwork, I’ve been progressing through the ordination process in the Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey, hoping to be starting seminary in about a year. I’ve returned to monthly dinners with my amazing extended family. I’ve been gathering as much as I can with my marvelous and geographically diverse (at least, by US standards) circle of friends, with whom I continue to enjoy celebrating engagements, new jobs, and the daily bits of happiness, which are much easier to celebrate when you’re one text message and no-more-than one time zone away. There’s the day-to-day stuff, too - working a few part-time jobs and of course, making a point of taking my adventures across state lines at least once a month (Typical, right?). Really, this paragraph is only the very tip of the iceberg; we are talking an entire year here.

In the midst of all of this, I’ve returned to my home parish (the Church of the Holy Cross in North Plainfield) full time for the first time since I went of to university, except this time I get to be an adult rather than a quiet child. I go to more events and more committee meetings, and I even got elected to serve on Vestry, where I co-chair the fundraising committee. But that’s not the really good stuff. The best part is that with every passing Sunday, every conversation, every fellow parishioner I get to know a little better than before, I fall just a bit more in love with this community of souls I’ve been journeying with all these years, and I’m constantly amazed that that already rich love can grow deeper and deeper! Now, that’s Grace – the unending journey of ever-deepening faith and love, running like a river through the heart of what I believe Christianity is all about… and which I believe characterizes the love of the communities I was blessed enough to journey with for my year in the Rainbow Nation.

Sometimes, on my way home at night, I jar myself thinking, “I spent a year living in South Africa.” Sometimes, on the way to the grocery store, I think about how I’d like to buy some pure, exotic fruit juice or a jar of Black Cat Peanut Butter or All Gold Tomato (say: to-MAH-to) Sauce. I can laugh at Matt Lauer for mispronouncing Lesotho during the opening ceremony of the Olympics a few weeks ago. These days, I no longer have to stop and think what side of the car to get in, and I always drive on the right side of the road, even when my AnHouse mix CD is blasting! I do, however, carry around a still, small fear of forgetting things – anything, everything – from that year: the route I’d take to work, the rules of cricket, the look on Subi’s face when he talks about chicken, the feeling of listening to ASFers sing, the shape of the cracks in the wall in the office that I worked in, the sound of the laugh of each and every one of my housemates (individually and collectively). The thing is, I’ve realized (with the little help from an episode of Fringe - I know, AnHouse friends, of all the TV shows, it happens to be ours…) that even when I cannot consciously remember these soul-stirring moments, the mark that they left on my life will be permanently imprinted upon me, sealed on me forever (among other important marks on my soul…).

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

One year ago today. I can play those final days over in my head, scene by scene, like a favorite movie you know all the lines to but still get joy from watching over and over. I lived fully into each heartbeat of my conglomeration of goodbye experiences about offering closure to a chapter of a story that does not end.


1 comment:

  1. Hi Ann -Post this on the Holy Cross page:
    http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Church-of-the-Holy-Cross/129854702744?ref=ts

    ReplyDelete