This is my last plane ride until I land in Washington D.C. with the rest of my family and friends. My last travel until I land back in my hometown and I am surrounded by rich people and whiny children and melodramatic teenagers. My last chance in the moment to think this week through. My last chance until I am engulfed by Bustling-And-Busy-America, where we don’t have time to be inconvenienced by sadness. Where people lose faith because they just don’t have the time to pray or they’re too sensible to believe in angels and demons. Where people someone’s life could be over if he or she had a nasty rumor spread about them. Where women starve themselves for beauty and milk their banks dry in search of happiness. Where true joy is so rare to come by.
I prepared for Africa for months. The culture shock was unnerving, but bearable. The people were kind and patient. If you smiled and waved to a stranger, they wouldn’t look at you funny, but instead return the gesture. I prepared for months for the stories I would hear and the pain I would feel. I was even prepared for the heartbreak, but I don’t think I was ever prepared for the mark this experience left on my heart. By Saturday evening, I was so physically tired, mentally unstable, and emotionally drained, I didn’t know what to do.
But here’s the thing. I was uncomfortable in Zambia, but I was happy. I was joyful there. I was spiritual and I was fired up for the Lord. In America, I was comfortable. I was blessed and I was rich. I am blessed and I am rich. But I don’t think I was ever happy like I was in Zambia. I don’t think I ever smiled righteously like I did at Camp Hope. I think I was too concerned with being comfy to worry about being joyful.
And that’s what I am not prepared for when I go back to America. The culture shock of my home and my own people will probably make me a bitter soul. Just going on Facebook made me upset. But I don’t want to be upset or bitter. I don’t want to be so concerned with comfort that I forget about my joy. I want to be full of life, not full of… stuff. Stuff like money or stuff like fame. Stuff like popularity or stuff like pride. I want to just live, I want to walk alongside Jesus and be filled with the Holy Spirit. I don’t want to be happy. I don’t care about happiness. I don’t care about whether or not I am smiling.
I just want joy. The kind those kids, who I considered to have nothing, taught me.
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