9 months in america. (or, if you've ever lived overseas, you probably understand.)

Snow has turned to rain. In like a lion, out like a lamb, they say. Some years it’s true. Other years, the lamb comes first, and is devoured later by the lion. This March, it’s too early to say what the final outcome will be, but the sunshine of this past week is already being blocked out by the chilly rain of the weekend. At least it’s not snow.

It’s been 9 months now since I left my home in Europe, but Europe has not left me. I see it, hear it, smell it, feel it in bits and pieces. When I walk along the Schuylkill, some days I see the Seine. As I bike through Fairmount, some days I feel Amsterdam. I sip my starbucks latte and some days I’m back in Basel. I smell a cup of strong black tea and some days it’s Gena making it for me in Glasgow. I put my garbage out on the curb and wince at the amount of things in the bag that could be in a gelbe sack. I pay 11 dollars for the wine that I loved from Lidl that used to cost me 4 euros. I buy euro sneakers. I try to tell Mike about my dream house, and can only describe Sarah’s apartment in Vienna or the Tustin’s in Poznan- high ceilings, French doors, wood floors, open spaces, crown moulding, spiral staircases, character. The sunshine itself, universal as it is, takes me these days to the bike path between Wittlingen and Rumingen, or sometimes to the sunny interior of the café at G5.

I know that life experiences and seasons build on one another. Each has its own time and place; it’s useless to look back and think that one season will never be surpassed by another, for they’re all appropriate for their own time. I love my apartment here- it’s big and open, it has character. I ride my bike, I recycle as much as I can, I drink my tea and coffee, I walk along the river, I sometimes tell my co-workers at Barnes and Noble the total for their purchase in German, just to practice. I like being near my family, and I know I’m contributing significantly to the Body of Christ in Philadelphia as much as I did in the Black Forest. So, why is there still this ache in the pit of my stomach?

I worry that I will never be content with what most people in this country long for- stability, a big house, a happy marriage, kids who aren’t off the wall, a job that they enjoy. I want all of these things (well, minus the big house. Honest, all I want is a flat in a European city)…but I want more. I want adventure, new cultures, travel. I want to live in a culture that’s not quite so self-centered, so individualistic, so work-a-holic, or so caught up in its own hero complex. I want to feel like I’m always pushing the limits of my comfort zone, lest I become complacent and think I’ve ‘arrived.’ I want to contribute to the growth of the global body of Christ. Not that the American portion of that global body is beneath me; it’s just that there are a lot of good people here already, and I’d rather be somewhere else. Is it okay that I just like other countries better than my own? Do I have to have a good reason for that? But am I being hypocritical? Is my desire for adventure a mere product of this culture that some days I abhor? These are the questions that keep me awake at night. Really.

It’s strange, too, that just a year ago, the work I was doing was something that dozens of people were reading about in my newsletters, on my blog. Why is it that we put a higher value on Kingdom work overseas than we do on Kingdom work here? Why does it seem strange to send a newsletter to people about my life and work in Philadelphia, but not my life and work in Germany? I still need prayer here as much as I did there. Perhaps more. Because here, I’m more prone to forget that I need prayer and to think I can do it myself. After all, I’m on my home turf; it creates a certain level of comfort that makes me forget that I’m still very far from home.

Maybe that’s why I want to live overseas, why I want to stay in an apartment and not buy a house, why I liked being a missionary. I know it’s why I like living in the city- I could write a whole separate treatise about how life in the city keeps me so much more aware of human depravity, of racial and cultural issues, of the extremes of poverty and riches, of the urgency of our Mission. But I’ll save that one for another rainy day. Actually, I’m sure I’ve already written it somewhere else. No, the point of this little reflection is simply that I miss Europe, and I’m wondering tonight exactly how long it will take me to readjust my expectations, or if I ever will. I know that I’m changed because of the experiences I’ve had, and I feel really lonely when I try to convey the depth of that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. It just sounds like I’m snobbish, or bragging. That’s not what I’m trying to do at all, but I don’t know how else to talk about it.

If you’ve ever lived overseas, you probably understand.