Costa Rica marked my sixth trip in seven months. When I got back in the office after this one, I sent out some emails to some of my past participants. They were on my mind. So often I receive responses from people that say they are “still processing” their trip. For a lot of reasons, I like that. It means that the experience was heavy. It means it meant a lot to them and impacted things deep inside, things that are hard to reach and probably ignored in the hustle and superficiality of everyday life.
I am in shock that it is mid February already (of 2012, mind you!) Time sure does fly. I thought it went fast while playing college soccer and trying to manage classes and sleep—well it did then, and it’s even going faster now.
Maybe it’s the planning aspect of our jobs, Katie, that makes time seem so vaporous. We are constantly thinking about the next trip, the next month, and not only that, but planning for next fall, next winter, next spring. We are constantly on our knees praying about growth and direction and future for this program, all the while asking even more for sustenance in today’s tasks.
And in the twilight zone that is often times the Miami airport and/or flights to and from foreign lands—when I’m not trying to catch a few zz’s, I’m thinking about what’s next (for today and next year, personally and for work).
And here it is, the million dollar question: What happened to my “processing” ??
After my first trip or two, I said that ‘go to’ phrase to a lot to people who asked me about my experiences. But now…I don’t know if it’s that I’ve processed, or if I’ve just stopped processing.
What’s hard is that everyone on our trips is seeing all of it, poverty in its messy glory, for the first time. What’s even harder, is that it’s not my first time. I go back, every couple weeks, I’m headed to that place again. Whatever I haven’t processed just gets dumped onto the next trip, the next place, the next group.
I don’t think I was ever really shocked by the poverty, by the tent villages, the smell, the grime or any of the faces that misfortune wears on the outside. I’ve always held the opinion that people are people, no matter what. I think it’s the stuff inside that kills me. It’s when a kid is clinging to you and they don’t even know you…they just want someone to pay attention to them and hold them for 5 minutes. It’s the cry of a baby in a room of 40 other crying babies that will have to wait so long to get its food or care. It’s an orphanage of 560 kids—all without parents in a society that sees them as disposable. Its stuff like that, that if I really try and process, I just crumble. I can’t handle it.
So I don’t. I don’t have any answers, I don’t have any remedies for the broken heart that I have and that many participants leave with.
I do however, know someone who does. He is the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords. He is gentle and benevolent, mighty and strong. More and more in life, all I want to do is lie in the comfort of his mane and to be surrounded in his presence.
All I can say is that, what we are doing: visiting and giving small gifts to the poor and the orphan and the widow…is what I say about most things in life. It’s hard, but it’s worth it. Getting to know and rest in my Savior more through every experience is worth it; even if the processing takes a while or will never truly be completed. It doesn’t matter. He’s waiting for me…mane and all.
-Love, Emily
-Love, Emily
