Can I Get a Refill of Light Behind My Eyes?
What gets you out of bed in the morning?
For me, it’s the wifely calling of preparing breakfast, doing my first load of washing by hand, weeding the rolling vege gardens, and gently waking my sleeping husband and child at the opportune time with a freshly prepared cup of their beverage of choice. Just kidding. On a good day, my husband gets up well early, makes the coffee, and then kindly rolls me out of bed with a friendly shove much later in the morning. I can’t say I’ve ever been a morning person. In all the changes that the most recent season has drawn out of me, sadly, evolving into an early bird has not been one. I fully embody the much edited phrase (by me), “The early bird catches the worm, and who wants worms for breakfast?”
However, the myriad of other changes in this season have been disconcerting, to say the least. I have found solidarity in the local McDonald’s: it’s changed a lot in the past four years, as have I. However, the changes look good on Maccas, note the new Scandinavian-style approach to seating and the joy of the ordering kiosk. But this is more than I can confidently say about me.
The first thing some people seemed to notice about me upon our return to New Zealand was how the light behind my eyes had gone. Obviously that’s hyperbole, but a couple of people did notice that I was not reappearing in New Zealand with my usual ample supply of joyous rambunctiousness. Our family was back with good stories of fulfilling work, and a few years of experience under our belt, but it did seem like a little of the optimism had gone. And that would be correct.
Don’t get me wrong, there have been very many good times. In fact, the good heavily outweighs the bad. Our beautiful new array of friends, our local Budapest community, our sense of achievement in some of the jobs laid before us: all so very good! Wouldn’t change it for the world. But it has simultaneously been the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
Why? Well, it turns out that leaving all that was known to go and do the ‘Lord’s work’ has had an interesting effect on my sense of self. I left with the youthful optimism of the unknown future before me and the support of my whole known community behind me. I have now had a taste of what this calling could look like for the foreseeable future, and unlike our two favourite biblical spies - Joshua and Caleb - I’m not coming back with a ‘let’s take on the giants’ mentality. I’m more like the other eight spies, softly offering the possibility that we are too small for the task and mistaken in our vision. Perhaps these giants are in fact too big for us. Perhaps our wee traumatised bodies could do with settling on the cusp of the desert, feeding on whatever God provides there. Think “It might not be much, but it’s safe” and other gross catechisms. At least that’s how it feels sometimes.
We lost a few things in Hungary, but one of the biggest losses was how much of myself I seemed to misplace. It’s easier to lose your sense of self when everything familiar disappears. I noticed it when we first left New Zealand, and I’m noticing it again now that we’ve left Hungary.
A big part of this is how I measure myself through the eyes of others. I’ve always reevaluated and readjusted by paying attention to how I’m seen by friends and leaders, and until now that hasn’t felt unhealthy. But being seen outside of New Zealand added a new angle I wasn’t prepared for, and it sent my internal compass spinning for a while.
Because my self-understanding is so closely tied to how others see me, I’m particularly vulnerable to their opinions. And unsurprisingly, people in different parts of the world see me very differently than how my kin here in New Zealand view me.
I lost the ability to speak clearly and precisely without the risk of cultural misunderstanding. I lost the ability to use my intuition for a while; my gut was telling me things that were wrong because people operated differently out there. It was tiring and lonely and frustrating and ultimately it stole a little of the light behind my eyes.
Maybe it feels the same for you. Maybe you wake up in the morning and the first thing that leaves your mouth is a groan or a sigh.
I have good news for you, it’s not permanent. This is but a season and the next will soon come. Life does get good again. Breathing starts to feel simpler again.
Can I be the absolute thousandth person to say there is light at the end of the tunnel? You’ll be on your way with learnings that have come hard-won. You’ll be re-attuned to a more complicated world, a skill that only time and pain can give you. You’ll see God in the coffee and the cold, crisp air of the early morning and you’ll be grateful you have this new day with those you love who are still here. Coming back to yourself is beautiful.
For most of the time that I was overseas, the only birds I’d had the privilege of hearing regularly were pigeon coos and the solo bark of some unknown mother bird at 4am every morning outside Minna’s window. Immediately upon arriving at Auckland Airport at the horrific hour of 4am, I was greeted with the beautiful orchestra of birdsong that is so well known to those who are native to New Zealand.
There is growth and pride to be won in change, but also equal relief in seeing that some things have not changed.
