a little flat and dreary

and in a flash, i was home.

standing relieved in jordan’s arms in the airport, sitting around the dinner table laughing with my family, snuggling under the covers of my cozy blue bed — it feels as if i’ve always been home; i just woke up from a strange and beautiful dream.

i think this is maybe what the pevensie children felt like when they realized they weren’t in narnia anymore after their incredible adventure with prince caspian: this old world seemed “a little flat and dreary for a moment after all they had been through, but also, unexpectedly nice in its own way.” the children returned to england completely changed people, because in narnia they had met aslan. they had outsmarted witches and fought battles; they had climbed unbelievably steep mountains, but when the world of narnia faded away and the children found themselves sitting in the grey cabin of a railway car, we all could see that although their adventures were about bringing justice to oppressed people, and about becoming better people themselves, what was really important about their adventure was that they fell in love with aslan, and began to understand the depths of his love for them.

i recall being very concerned as a young girl when my mom read these last lines of the story to me because it ended before we could find out what it might have looked like for the pevensie kids to move forward from their adventure. i was afraid for them, because i knew aslan would seem much more distant to them in england than he had seemed in narnia, and i knew they would be surrounded by fewer people who loved him and knew about his love for them. i craved a better resolution for the children’s story.

and sitting in my grey aeroplane cabin on the way home from rwanda, i craved a better resolution for my own story. i thought back to all the people i met, the battles i fought and the mountains i climbed; i thought about the people i had helped and the ways i had been changed myself. in that moment i could plainly see that all those things made for a good story, but not yet a good resolution. i felt like i was sitting in my canoe, looking back on the vast waters that i had paddled through, but still not being able to find a place to dock on the shore and continue on my way.

i found my distant shore while sitting in church on sunday morning. wrapped in brightly coloured african material, and keenly aware of how much less rhythm my church has than the one i just came from, i looked up at the cross at the front of the building and listened to the lyrics of the hymn we were singing.

what heights of love, what depths of peace / when fears are stilled, when strivings cease / my comforter, my all in all / here in the love of christ i stand

my eyes filled with tears. and for a moment — unlike any other i’ve felt in my entire life — i loved my God and i knew he loved me. and i could feel him helping me gently from my canoe and setting me upon the sands of a new shore. it struck me that i have been searching for a resolution for my story, when all along i have been living in the resolution of God’s story. jesus died. he made peace between God and man. and now i am living in the part of the story where i can stand hopefully in love.

over the past two days i’ve been gradually being reminded of the realities of my life here in Canada. i need to begin sorting out my course schedule for the fall, writing reports for my scholarship foundation, and planning a wedding for jordan and i. it’s a whole new daunting mountain range rising in my horizon, and — believe it or not — i think it will be more harrowing and difficult than the mountains i’ve just come through. but, i can feel God at my side promising to journey with me the entire way.

i didn’t realize it when i was younger, but i can see it now: i should not have felt afraid for the pevensie kids in their grey railway car cabin. though their bright and vivid adventure was over and they were on the outset of a drab and dreary one, they were continuing to be part of God’s resolution for the world, and that is a beautiful and wonderful thing. so, my dear friends and faithful readers, i hope you can see what has now become so evident to me: God doesn’t write stories with “happily ever afters.” his stories — even in their resolutions — are full of hills, because climbing mountains in love is the best life anyone could ever dream to live.

the forest

i could feel a hot tear run down shakira’s cheek when i squeezed her tight to say goodbye. she had been mostly quiet on my last visit to her house. her sisters ran around full of energy, giving me hugs and kisses and little gifts, and asking me please not to go home to “candada,” but shakira just clung loyally to my side. every once in a while, she and i would catch eyes and we would share a special moment. we were both so glad to be together one last time, but so sad to say goodbye.

i had to say goodbye to appolonaire and john yesterday too. and this afternoon i will give my last hugs to valence, jean paul and maman brigitte. the pain that i’m caused by these goodbyes makes me question what good it has done anyone to build these relationships in the first place. i mean, i’m about to take off and leave these beautiful people behind, perhaps never to see them again. am i causing more pain than it’s worth by being another person in their life who abandons them? it’s as if any work i did to heal wounds will be undone and reversed by my leaving; i’m tearing out the stitches.

i wrote those last two paragraphs yesterday, but didn’t have direction to finish my thoughts. re-reading it tonight, i see exactly how God used today’s circumstances to address my worries.

three different people came to me today to tell me what God has done in their life through me and my time here in rwanda. interestingly, none of them were people who i thought i had ministered to, so i was quite surprised, and reminded that God always works in ways i don’t expect.

one of those people was a friend of mine named julien. he’s the type of guy who everybody is strangely drawn to because he is so guided by God’s spirit, and he shared with me this evening that he believes God sent me to rwanda as an encouragment specifically for him. something about my life (something that i’ve actually been quite discouraged about lately), has inspired julien to not be afraid of a big calling that God has placed on his life.

i was incredibly humbled as i considered the notion that maybe my role as a tree in the story about God’s forest was simply to come to rwanda to encourage julien. after all, God is the sort of author that is willing to go to great lengths to transform his characters. as i walked quietly beside julien in the cool, kigali night air, i felt content. God, i prayed, even if your only reason for me flying across the ocean this summer was to do this one thing, i am glad i did it. i like being a tree in your story.”

and the thing is, i think God actually uses willing trees in bigger ways than we realize. i heard from three people tonight about what God has done through me, but i imagine God — in all his extravagant grace — has used me as a vessel for other acts of transformation during my time here. i might not ever know who i helped or how i helped them, but i think i’ll be able to feel the story i’m part of growing to be more and more meaningful. God’s forest is vibrant and advancing in a way trees standing on their own just cannot be.

i can see it coming

valence has been bartering with me lately. “when do you go home to canada?” he’ll ask. “in two weeks,” i say.

“five” he says.

“two” i say.

“okay, three.” he says, “but that’s my best offer.”

when he walked me to the bus stop today he did the same routine, and even though i knew he was joking, i could see the hurt in his eyes when we talked about saying goodbye.

leaving here has felt surreal for me until today. i mean, i’ve been watching my calendar, and counting down the days, but it didn’t hit me until this afternoon that i’m really going to have to say goodbye to these people. it was my last tuesday at ubuzima. the ladies sang and danced for me, they hugged me and made me promise not to forget them. it was so wonderful and so awful because at the same time that i was flooded with an understanding of how definitely they have changed my life, i also realized that i won’t have their help to express that change when i arrive back home.

i rode home on the bus, full of sentiment, and began to sift through all sorts of questions that i’ve been repressing for the last few weeks. could i have done more here? what will become of valence when i leave? what will it be like to be home again? has my character been transformed by the story of my thousand hills?

i thought about the daunting task of eventually writing a blog that will wrap up my story. you know, it will be really nice if i’m able to reach some sort of a grand resolution within the next few days. i’ve been paddling so hard, and i’ve been hoping to see some sort of great beauty when i finally dock my canoe on the approaching shore. but, to be perfectly honest, i’m still not completely sure whether or not God’s stories work that way

. . . i’m about to find out though. will you stick with me for a little while longer?