Before I really get started, I want to thank any new readers I gained while I was gone. This is the first time since I've been home that I've taken time to look at my stats and I was absolutely shocked to find that my total view count was over 10,000. There were 865 in the last month. I count this among one of my proudest blogging moments.
(I still can't figure out why people say that they are "humbled" by the praise and admiration of thousands. Humility seems like a choice to me, and it's pretty dang difficult when you realize that thousands of people have read your work. Or that a few people have read it a few thousand times. I am proud of this.)
I have my family to thank for this. My mom regularly reposts my links on facebook and my dad, whose blog goes out to a huge number of people each morning, links to mine from time to time. Like this post about hope and rest and God. Read it. It's really good.
But having that number of readers means that I have a responsibility to follow through on follow up posts.
That's what this is.
"The Return."
That's what this part of the trip is called.
The Return home, which pretty much just means that I've returned to my parents.
The Return to dealing with what I left hanging three weeks ago.
(A conversation, a messy room, housing details, and life in general.)
The Return to American culture, which will be discussed in this post.
The Return to "normal," which will never actually exist.
The Return to the slowness of daily life.
I realized last night that I had only been home for a week.
It was strange to think that a week earlier I had been asleep, and two weeks earlier I had been trying to sleep but might have had a bladder infection that had me running to the bathroom every couple hours to pee. It was a long night. And, because I regularly tell you these things, I was on my period at the time. Yeah, that makes six countries (US, Canada, Jamaica, England, Scotland, Czech Republic).
Lesson #1: Drink plain water, not just "tea" or water with syrup. Drink water. Every day. Don't wait until Hike Day to switch after two and a half days. Your kidneys and bladder will thank you.
So, here I am.
Where, exactly?
The Starbucks at Dupont.
I used the free drink I earned in Detroit right before we left.
(Extra shot mocha, two pumps caramel, three pumps vanilla.)
This is the place I come to write.
It's my SG in Fort Wayne, without all of the Bethel students.
I'm listening to my Summer Soundtrack playlist on Spotify for the first time in three weeks.
"Taylor the Latte Boy" just started playing, which would bring a smile to my face if I didn't feel so awkward about smiling in this setting.
I like this song so much.
But I'm stalling, because getting to the point is going to be painful.
I've been back for a week.
I went to Cleveland for the weekend, because two of my dear friends were getting married.
Because I've been gone all summer, my parents and I haven't had much time together, so we turned it into a mini-vacation. We took the scenic route over and found a great ice cream place in Sandusky (Toft's. Go there. Get the Java Chip, Coconut Cream Pie, Cake Batter, or Rocky Road.).
We saw Lake Erie. I ended up waist deep in the lake, which was definitely not intentional.
We stayed in a suite.
It was a three-day delay of my return to normal life.
I was glad to go and spend time with friends and with my parents, but it was difficult to be fully present.
I was still working through jet lag. I was starting to process. I was missing the people I had spent two weeks with. I was missing mountains.
This is where it gets painful. Fight the tears, Swanson. You are in a public place.
Let's start with the jet lag.
I got home and talked for a couple hours, but by 8:30 I was in bed. I slept until 11:00 on Thursday, which was not as late as I expected.
But on Thursday night I stayed up late and woke up at 6:30. I was wide awake with no chance of falling asleep again.
At the hotel on Friday, I fell asleep around 9:30 and slept until 9.
At this point, I think I was back to normal. We stayed up later that night and woke up around 8 or 8:30 on Sunday. Maybe later than that.
Now I'm feeling pretty good.
My stomach was a little bit more difficult to adjust. I got used to eating three meals a day at set times.
This was okay for breakfast and lunch coming back, because it was close enough to lunch and dinner for my body. But by 4:00pm each day, I was ready for a feast.
Everything has pretty much worked itself out now. My body is getting used to eating dairy and fruit again.
Breakfast is something other than rohliky with butter.
Lunch and dinner are not pork in some kind of sauce.
There's no soup before lunch.
Processing.
It's been eight months since I told Kyle I was interested in going on this trip.
And now it's over.
Those two weeks flew by like they were nothing.
We were leaving Granger and then we were at training and then we were at camp and then we were in Kyjov and then we were saying "good-bye" to every one and then we were in Prague and then we were home. No trip has ever felt that fast.
I want to go back and do it again. I want to re-live it. I want to savor every moment.
Hindsight is a kick in the teeth sometimes.
If I had known how much I would value each day after the fact, I would have spent more time valuing each day in real time.
Lesson #2: Assume that you will always value each day when it's gone, whether because it was good and you want it back or because it was terrible and you learned a lesson from it. So pay attention to each moment, but not to the point that you can't enjoy each moment.
I want to go back right now. Our intern team is at camp, probably talking to students because it's Gospel Night and they just went through Labyrinth and are doing their own processing.
God, be present. Break down the language and cultural barrier. Let their words be Your words.
I want to go back next summer. So much.
Not in the same way that I want to go back to England, because that's a selfish thing.
This is the kind of "want to go back" that comes from feeling like my work there isn't finished.
I felt that as I left camp, as I said "good-bye" to my students and the interns and the Czech team, as I walked around Prague and had very little desire to spend money on souvenirs, as we got on the plane and I cried as we took off.
I just wanted to either be back with my camp family or home with my biological family to tell them about how badly I want to be there next summer.
I haven't thought seriously about God calling me to long-term, overseas missions in a while. To be honest, it's terrified me. I've hated the idea of being away from my family and friends and language for more than a few weeks.
I don't like to think about the fact that life goes on and people change, whether I'm around or not.
Going to England last year and coming back to find out that two couples had gotten engaged was a little overwhelming.
If I go away for three months next summer, I will miss weddings and babies and possibly deaths.
I will miss another opportunity for a summer fling (not that I've ever had one anyway, or that I would be likely to have one if I stayed here).
I will miss so much life that will happen here.
And I will change and be a different person when I come back.
I went through this thought process five years ago when I got back from Jamaica.
Someone had talked about how life was continuing at home without her, and I realized how much I would hate that.
But I started thinking about it and realized that if God was calling me to overseas missions, He would be there with me.
He knows what I will miss next summer, if I do the internship.
He has always known.
And I know that He will provide peace and comfort for me.
I am not one to use cheesy quotes, but I can't think of a simpler way to put it:
"If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it."
He has proven to me His faithfulness.
It's the theme of my life, of my very existence.
I don't know whether I will be in the Czech Republic next summer.
I think that I will be.
I don't know whether I will leave this country for the long term.
But I think I will.
And now the part where I talk about my team.
We spent seven months studying Romans, praying, thinking.
We spent the beginning of the summer talking about teaching English.
We spent the last couple weeks before leaving actually spending time together and getting to know each other.
And then we left. We spent two weeks with each other. We had very little time apart, and I can't say that I was happy with that.
I should have been. I started thinking about this pretty early in the trip.
I should have been making the choice to want to spend time with these people.
They are my brothers and sisters.
It's easy to say that I was loving them by taking time to be away from them to re-energize, but I was really being selfish.
It's tough to be the awkward middle child.
Not as tough as I made it seem sometimes, but still tough.
I didn't know how to relate, I didn't feel like I was supported, I did feel like an outsider.
So I didn't try.
Lesson #3: Always try. And yes, there is a "try." You can't always do. Or, to be more fair to Yoda, maybe trying is a form of doing. Or maybe that line is only relevant when it comes to using the force. Anywho. Make an effort. In everything.
We studied Romans and got to chapter 12. But I suppose I forgot about the part where it says "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." (Romans 12:18, ESV)
I could have done so much more than I did to live at peace with these brothers and sisters of mine.
I was selfish. Oh, so selfish.
Someday, I might learn how to empathize.
It's been so long since I was homesick that I don't remember quite how it feels.
And it was always treated with tough love, so that's how I am tempted to treat people who are homesick.
And we had four homesick girls the night before camp started.
I completely understand. Jet lag was hitting at full force, they were about to meet a bunch of complete strangers who were at unknown places on the spectrum of English knowledge, we had an intern leader whose style of humor was familiar to me but a bit frightening to them, and the ideas of teaching English and of sharing the Gospel when you have no experience are terrifying.
But I was at a total loss when it came to comforting them. And I was frustrated, because I thought that they were being selfish.
But they were being human, being 16-18 years old, being out of the country for the first time, etc.
Lesson #4: Let people be people. They will deal with situations differently, and that will probably be a good thing. If they're being completely irrational, that might be the time to step in with reason or tough love. If they're harming themselves or others, that is definitely the time to intervene. But if they're just working through the emotions of international travel, let them do it.
Now, I miss them dearly. I got a text yesterday about plans to go see the new Batman movie. I wish so much that I lived closer, because I wanted to see them and hang out with them. I'm glad that I move back in just over two weeks and then will be close enough to go to movies or continue our Bible study or just spend time talking about the trip. Oh, man I miss them.
American Culture.
I've always known that we're a pretty self-centered country. We think we have all the answers to the world's problems, we think that being loud is the right way to be, we seem to have lost all sense of respect.
But when we travel to other countries, we discover that we're the only ones who are like that.
Let me be clear, I'm using "we" loosely. I am not a "typical American." Sure, I can be materialistic with the best of them. I've covered the selfishness thing in this post. But I'm quiet. I'm reserved. I don't get too familiar with strangers. The person in front of me in line at the grocery store is just another person, not a potential friend. I am not outgoing. Part of that stems from insecurity. But I also know that I don't really like it when people just start up a conversation in line at the grocery store.
(Evangelism is a different thing. If the Holy Spirit prompts me to talk to someone, I'll do it. But I don't consider it common courtesy to talk to people. In fact, just the opposite. It's weird and uncomfortable for me. Live and let live.)
I discovered very quickly, between interaction and education, that I would fit in very nicely in Czech culture.
There is a sense of respect of privacy.
Their history has made them somewhat pessimistic and self-sufficient.
They are a quiet people, for the most part.
Children are taught to respect their elders.
They are not taught that they can be anything they want.
They are disciplined when they do something wrong.
They are not told that they are special or perfect or invincible.
Basically, most of the things that I hate about the way Americans in general raise their children are seen as ridiculous to Czechs. At least to the one I talked to about it. And I trust her.
I feel like I was redeeming their view of Americans in a way.
It was well acknowledged that I am not a normal American.
My team made that clear. Kyle and Jonathan are about six times louder and more enthusiastic than me.
I get excited about things, I really do. And I have fun.
But I don't show emotion the way I'm "supposed to."
And I think that quiet conversation can be very fun.
I roll with the punches. I put up with a lot. I don't complain about being too hot or too cold or other silly things that I don't control.
I complain, for sure. But if you really knew all of the things that I don't like but don't talk about not liking, you wouldn't believe it.
That assumes you are a typical American who embraces our culture.
I'm just tired of it.
I'm tired of how we overindulge, overspend, underappreciate, and disrespect.
Okay. I think I'm done for now.
With both my rant about American Culture and this post.
It's time to go home and spend time with my parents, because I decided yesterday that I was moving in early (hooray for having that option!) which means fewer days with them.
Holy cow, this was a long post! If you've stuck with me all the way through, I commend you. And I thank you. And I apologize for talking about peeing and being on my period. And for reminding you of that, because you've probably forgotten by now. Welcome to my life.
(I still can't figure out why people say that they are "humbled" by the praise and admiration of thousands. Humility seems like a choice to me, and it's pretty dang difficult when you realize that thousands of people have read your work. Or that a few people have read it a few thousand times. I am proud of this.)
I have my family to thank for this. My mom regularly reposts my links on facebook and my dad, whose blog goes out to a huge number of people each morning, links to mine from time to time. Like this post about hope and rest and God. Read it. It's really good.
But having that number of readers means that I have a responsibility to follow through on follow up posts.
That's what this is.
"The Return."
That's what this part of the trip is called.
The Return home, which pretty much just means that I've returned to my parents.
The Return to dealing with what I left hanging three weeks ago.
(A conversation, a messy room, housing details, and life in general.)
The Return to American culture, which will be discussed in this post.
The Return to "normal," which will never actually exist.
The Return to the slowness of daily life.
I realized last night that I had only been home for a week.
It was strange to think that a week earlier I had been asleep, and two weeks earlier I had been trying to sleep but might have had a bladder infection that had me running to the bathroom every couple hours to pee. It was a long night. And, because I regularly tell you these things, I was on my period at the time. Yeah, that makes six countries (US, Canada, Jamaica, England, Scotland, Czech Republic).
Lesson #1: Drink plain water, not just "tea" or water with syrup. Drink water. Every day. Don't wait until Hike Day to switch after two and a half days. Your kidneys and bladder will thank you.
So, here I am.
Where, exactly?
The Starbucks at Dupont.
I used the free drink I earned in Detroit right before we left.
(Extra shot mocha, two pumps caramel, three pumps vanilla.)
This is the place I come to write.
It's my SG in Fort Wayne, without all of the Bethel students.
I'm listening to my Summer Soundtrack playlist on Spotify for the first time in three weeks.
"Taylor the Latte Boy" just started playing, which would bring a smile to my face if I didn't feel so awkward about smiling in this setting.
I like this song so much.
But I'm stalling, because getting to the point is going to be painful.
I've been back for a week.
I went to Cleveland for the weekend, because two of my dear friends were getting married.
Because I've been gone all summer, my parents and I haven't had much time together, so we turned it into a mini-vacation. We took the scenic route over and found a great ice cream place in Sandusky (Toft's. Go there. Get the Java Chip, Coconut Cream Pie, Cake Batter, or Rocky Road.).
We saw Lake Erie. I ended up waist deep in the lake, which was definitely not intentional.
We stayed in a suite.
It was a three-day delay of my return to normal life.
I was glad to go and spend time with friends and with my parents, but it was difficult to be fully present.
I was still working through jet lag. I was starting to process. I was missing the people I had spent two weeks with. I was missing mountains.
This is where it gets painful. Fight the tears, Swanson. You are in a public place.
Let's start with the jet lag.
I got home and talked for a couple hours, but by 8:30 I was in bed. I slept until 11:00 on Thursday, which was not as late as I expected.
But on Thursday night I stayed up late and woke up at 6:30. I was wide awake with no chance of falling asleep again.
At the hotel on Friday, I fell asleep around 9:30 and slept until 9.
At this point, I think I was back to normal. We stayed up later that night and woke up around 8 or 8:30 on Sunday. Maybe later than that.
Now I'm feeling pretty good.
My stomach was a little bit more difficult to adjust. I got used to eating three meals a day at set times.
This was okay for breakfast and lunch coming back, because it was close enough to lunch and dinner for my body. But by 4:00pm each day, I was ready for a feast.
Everything has pretty much worked itself out now. My body is getting used to eating dairy and fruit again.
Breakfast is something other than rohliky with butter.
Lunch and dinner are not pork in some kind of sauce.
There's no soup before lunch.
Processing.
It's been eight months since I told Kyle I was interested in going on this trip.
And now it's over.
Those two weeks flew by like they were nothing.
We were leaving Granger and then we were at training and then we were at camp and then we were in Kyjov and then we were saying "good-bye" to every one and then we were in Prague and then we were home. No trip has ever felt that fast.
I want to go back and do it again. I want to re-live it. I want to savor every moment.
Hindsight is a kick in the teeth sometimes.
If I had known how much I would value each day after the fact, I would have spent more time valuing each day in real time.
Lesson #2: Assume that you will always value each day when it's gone, whether because it was good and you want it back or because it was terrible and you learned a lesson from it. So pay attention to each moment, but not to the point that you can't enjoy each moment.
I want to go back right now. Our intern team is at camp, probably talking to students because it's Gospel Night and they just went through Labyrinth and are doing their own processing.
God, be present. Break down the language and cultural barrier. Let their words be Your words.
I want to go back next summer. So much.
Not in the same way that I want to go back to England, because that's a selfish thing.
This is the kind of "want to go back" that comes from feeling like my work there isn't finished.
I felt that as I left camp, as I said "good-bye" to my students and the interns and the Czech team, as I walked around Prague and had very little desire to spend money on souvenirs, as we got on the plane and I cried as we took off.
I just wanted to either be back with my camp family or home with my biological family to tell them about how badly I want to be there next summer.
I haven't thought seriously about God calling me to long-term, overseas missions in a while. To be honest, it's terrified me. I've hated the idea of being away from my family and friends and language for more than a few weeks.
I don't like to think about the fact that life goes on and people change, whether I'm around or not.
Going to England last year and coming back to find out that two couples had gotten engaged was a little overwhelming.
If I go away for three months next summer, I will miss weddings and babies and possibly deaths.
I will miss another opportunity for a summer fling (not that I've ever had one anyway, or that I would be likely to have one if I stayed here).
I will miss so much life that will happen here.
And I will change and be a different person when I come back.
I went through this thought process five years ago when I got back from Jamaica.
Someone had talked about how life was continuing at home without her, and I realized how much I would hate that.
But I started thinking about it and realized that if God was calling me to overseas missions, He would be there with me.
He knows what I will miss next summer, if I do the internship.
He has always known.
And I know that He will provide peace and comfort for me.
I am not one to use cheesy quotes, but I can't think of a simpler way to put it:
"If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it."
He has proven to me His faithfulness.
It's the theme of my life, of my very existence.
I don't know whether I will be in the Czech Republic next summer.
I think that I will be.
I don't know whether I will leave this country for the long term.
But I think I will.
And now the part where I talk about my team.
We spent seven months studying Romans, praying, thinking.
We spent the beginning of the summer talking about teaching English.
We spent the last couple weeks before leaving actually spending time together and getting to know each other.
And then we left. We spent two weeks with each other. We had very little time apart, and I can't say that I was happy with that.
I should have been. I started thinking about this pretty early in the trip.
I should have been making the choice to want to spend time with these people.
They are my brothers and sisters.
It's easy to say that I was loving them by taking time to be away from them to re-energize, but I was really being selfish.
It's tough to be the awkward middle child.
Not as tough as I made it seem sometimes, but still tough.
I didn't know how to relate, I didn't feel like I was supported, I did feel like an outsider.
So I didn't try.
Lesson #3: Always try. And yes, there is a "try." You can't always do. Or, to be more fair to Yoda, maybe trying is a form of doing. Or maybe that line is only relevant when it comes to using the force. Anywho. Make an effort. In everything.
We studied Romans and got to chapter 12. But I suppose I forgot about the part where it says "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." (Romans 12:18, ESV)
I could have done so much more than I did to live at peace with these brothers and sisters of mine.
I was selfish. Oh, so selfish.
Someday, I might learn how to empathize.
It's been so long since I was homesick that I don't remember quite how it feels.
And it was always treated with tough love, so that's how I am tempted to treat people who are homesick.
And we had four homesick girls the night before camp started.
I completely understand. Jet lag was hitting at full force, they were about to meet a bunch of complete strangers who were at unknown places on the spectrum of English knowledge, we had an intern leader whose style of humor was familiar to me but a bit frightening to them, and the ideas of teaching English and of sharing the Gospel when you have no experience are terrifying.
But I was at a total loss when it came to comforting them. And I was frustrated, because I thought that they were being selfish.
But they were being human, being 16-18 years old, being out of the country for the first time, etc.
Lesson #4: Let people be people. They will deal with situations differently, and that will probably be a good thing. If they're being completely irrational, that might be the time to step in with reason or tough love. If they're harming themselves or others, that is definitely the time to intervene. But if they're just working through the emotions of international travel, let them do it.
Now, I miss them dearly. I got a text yesterday about plans to go see the new Batman movie. I wish so much that I lived closer, because I wanted to see them and hang out with them. I'm glad that I move back in just over two weeks and then will be close enough to go to movies or continue our Bible study or just spend time talking about the trip. Oh, man I miss them.
American Culture.
I've always known that we're a pretty self-centered country. We think we have all the answers to the world's problems, we think that being loud is the right way to be, we seem to have lost all sense of respect.
But when we travel to other countries, we discover that we're the only ones who are like that.
Let me be clear, I'm using "we" loosely. I am not a "typical American." Sure, I can be materialistic with the best of them. I've covered the selfishness thing in this post. But I'm quiet. I'm reserved. I don't get too familiar with strangers. The person in front of me in line at the grocery store is just another person, not a potential friend. I am not outgoing. Part of that stems from insecurity. But I also know that I don't really like it when people just start up a conversation in line at the grocery store.
(Evangelism is a different thing. If the Holy Spirit prompts me to talk to someone, I'll do it. But I don't consider it common courtesy to talk to people. In fact, just the opposite. It's weird and uncomfortable for me. Live and let live.)
I discovered very quickly, between interaction and education, that I would fit in very nicely in Czech culture.
There is a sense of respect of privacy.
Their history has made them somewhat pessimistic and self-sufficient.
They are a quiet people, for the most part.
Children are taught to respect their elders.
They are not taught that they can be anything they want.
They are disciplined when they do something wrong.
They are not told that they are special or perfect or invincible.
Basically, most of the things that I hate about the way Americans in general raise their children are seen as ridiculous to Czechs. At least to the one I talked to about it. And I trust her.
I feel like I was redeeming their view of Americans in a way.
It was well acknowledged that I am not a normal American.
My team made that clear. Kyle and Jonathan are about six times louder and more enthusiastic than me.
I get excited about things, I really do. And I have fun.
But I don't show emotion the way I'm "supposed to."
And I think that quiet conversation can be very fun.
I roll with the punches. I put up with a lot. I don't complain about being too hot or too cold or other silly things that I don't control.
I complain, for sure. But if you really knew all of the things that I don't like but don't talk about not liking, you wouldn't believe it.
That assumes you are a typical American who embraces our culture.
I'm just tired of it.
I'm tired of how we overindulge, overspend, underappreciate, and disrespect.
Okay. I think I'm done for now.
With both my rant about American Culture and this post.
It's time to go home and spend time with my parents, because I decided yesterday that I was moving in early (hooray for having that option!) which means fewer days with them.
Holy cow, this was a long post! If you've stuck with me all the way through, I commend you. And I thank you. And I apologize for talking about peeing and being on my period. And for reminding you of that, because you've probably forgotten by now. Welcome to my life.
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