Transplant.

"Settling in." July 5th.

It happens at the most obscure moments.

Yesterday I felt like I was going to burst into a thousand pieces.

All of a sudden,

swells of tears will come

and my chest gets tight and my eyes

will sting and I will cry.

What spurs it on is non-sensical,

but nonetheless there are times

where the reality of my new reality

will be so overwhelming and different and strange,

and then I’ll remember a memory of the hospital in Africa or India,

and the tears will just come.

This reminds me of a root canal that I got a few years

ago.

The dentist puts the freezing in your mouth and then does crazy amounts of work.

I’m sitting there,

calm, conscious,

and aware what’s going on,

but I can’t feel it.

I then leave the dentist’s office,

still frozen, thinking it’s not that bad,

because nothing hurts so far.

I am able to do things, get around,

feeling a little numb, but distracted by the day’s duties.

But

then,

when I get home,

later on,

when the sun has gone down and I am sitting there settled in on the couch in my home,

the freezing is starting to wear off.

I am aware of every pulse,

every localized pain,

every trauma of that tooth,

and there’s nothing I can do about it,

except open my eyes wide,

breathe deep,

and endure.

This feels like a root canal.

I had so much grace in transitioning into Canada.

I was moving around and traveling for 3 weeks

before I really came home,

and I felt like I wasn’t affected.

I was able to do Canadian things, drive, talk to people, but I was still traveling.

I was still living out of a backpack.

I thought that because I was in Canada the transition was done, and over.

But I had not been home.

I had not been reacquainted with the ones I love the most,

the extreme familiarity of the house,

the personalities,

the classic items in the fridge...

For the month of June,

I had not unpacked my bags;

I was moving around and had a task for the day:

drive to this place,

take this ferry,

find a spot to camp,

make a fire,

drive back to this place,

speak at this church,

drop by and say hi to these people,

get dressed up and converse with these people...

my days were busy and fun,

distracting and new,

and so far removed from the conditions that I was immersed in for months previous,

that it was hard to believe that I had even gone away and experienced that.

But I believe it was God,

giving the grace to move around,

giving me the strength and the focus to enjoy the time across Canada,

while not being keenly aware of every pain of the root canal surgery...

yet.

Packing up my bags,

Flying across the world,

waiting in unknown airports,

talking to unfamiliar people,

printing boarding passes,

sleeping in a chair while being literally uprooted and moved to a different place.

This was the root canal.

Thank goodness the dentist gives freezing for this part.

The major work was done,

and can never really be undone to be back the way it was.

But on your way out, the dentist gives you an extra shot of freezing so that you have some extended relief for the rest of the day.

This “extended relief” was the 3 weeks in Canada before I got home.

I was able to enjoy it so much,

see people I loved and cherished,

speak passionately about my time abroad,

and meet new people along the way to laugh with.

But now,

the freezing is wearing off.

Just as I remember sitting there on the couch,

starting to feel the pain,

the awareness of the

drastic change of my tooth in my mouth,

I am starting to feel it.

I washed all my clothes yesterday.

I am putting things on hangers,

I am using a dryer.

My room is still a mess of memories and papers and books and fabrics from other lands.

Just like a throbbing, recovering tooth,

I am on the verge of tears at any moment,

most of this for unexplainable reasons,

it just rises in and out like the tides.

I feel different,

I feel disconnected,

I feel distant to the things around me,

I feel transplanted

and my roots are tender

sore

sensitive

this ground is different

new soil

different sunlight

and I am a bigger tree than when I left before.

So I feel like there is nothing I can quite do

to speed the process,

but cry when the tides come,

endure through the moments

of overwhelming disorient,

breathe when I feel like I can’t breathe,

and stay deep in the Word of God,

for it really is an anchor to our soul.

Hebrews 6:19.