Journal Entry – Sunday August 7, 2011
I didn’t anticipate this part.
I’m just going to call it the “after.”
I think it’s probably in some small measure (admittedly a very, very small measure) similar to what soldiers go through when they return home after a deployment.
You logically know that your body is back “here,” but your mind is still back “there.” Oddly, you feel a stronger sense of connection to “there” than “here.” It’s not that you’re not glad to be home, but at the same time there’s a strange longing to be back where you’ve just returned from. There’s a bit of a disconnect from your current surroundings. You don’t quite feel that you belong here now; you feel like you really belong back there. It almost feels wrong to be here when there’s so much need, so much to be done back there.
This morning I ask Bethany, “So…are you back here yet, or are you still back there?”
I don’t have to explain. She knows exactly what I mean.
She pauses. “There,” she replies.
“Yeah, I’m about 49% here, 51% there,” I say. This has been helped by the fact that I’ve already spent three hours at the office this morning starting to play catch up on work stuff.
“I’m more like 60-40,” Bethany says.
“It’s a weird feeling, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s freaking me out a little.”
“I know.”
She and I have talked about this. In fact, yesterday was an interesting transition. I sort of expected that when we got to Miami, Bethany would probably turn on the cell phone and call her mom, her sisters, her friends.
She didn’t.
On the plane from Miami to Atlanta, Bethany says, “Do you think we should call mom when we get to Atlanta?”
“Yeah, that’d be good,” I say.
We don’t.
In retrospect, having a three-hour drive home was a God-send. I think Bethany and I both found it very therapeutic. We just talked. And talked and talked. Continuing to process the week.
About five minutes away from the house I realize that during the entire drive, neither one of us have turned on the radio, and neither one of us have turned on a cell phone.
About two minutes away from the house Bethany says, “I can’t believe we haven’t called mom.” I laugh. Neither one of us elaborates, but I think it was the same for both of us. I think, at one level of consciousness or another, neither one of us wants to let anything intrude on this space that we’re in, this space that we’re sharing together because we’ve experienced something profound together. We don’t want to have to answer any questions yet, or try to relate to anyone who hasn’t shared in this experience with us.
So now it’s Sunday morning. We know that at church we’ll get the endless stream of “how was the trip” questions. And we have no idea how to even begin putting it into words. We want to, we want to share, we want to express, we want them to really “get it.”
But how can they?
I think anyone who goes on a trip like this should, especially the first time, go with somebody that they’re close to. Bethany and I have each other, and I think we’re both thankful for that. Otherwise, I think the feeling of alienation could be overwhelming when you return home. As much as you try to explain it, as much as others try to understand it, you know that it’s impossible for anyone to experience in their nervous system that which is now burned indelibly into your own nervous system.
But we will try. Because we must. Because people need to know. And so…we will share.
