The reality of my immanent departure comes in waves. Usually it doesn't seem real, but other times it hits me. When I'm taking yet another bag of garbage out to the burn pile. When I'm bagging up my remaining food items to give away. When I'm researching cell phone plans in America or checking my email hoping to see something from a potential future employer.
Perhaps it's all the self-reflection getting to me, but I find it appropriate that I'm going home with three bags, like they represent my three years spent in Uganda. As I clean windows and sweep out the long-neglected nooks and crannies, I find it symbolic that I'm alone with my thoughts once again. Alone with God. Much of the past years have been spent just like this--alone.
And that's not such a bad thing I've come to learn. In all that alone time, I've had many opportunities to practice depending on God, communicating with him, listening to the quiet nudges of the Spirit. I relied on Him to speak into confusion and put the chaos into order. I grew to love my time spent alone, with Him. I learned that even in the silence there can be complete fullness.
In these final days here in Uganda, even though everything else is changing, this has not changed. I'm still leaning on Jesus for strength, for patience, for ordering the chaos. I'm asking him to help me finish well. Listening for his voice as I stare at blank walls, empty shelves, and full suitcases. Relying on him for all that's ahead- the final goodbyes, the travels, the unknown of the future. Trusting him with the loss of leaving, the excitement of going home, and the hope for all that might be.
Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.
She who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with her.
Psalm 126:5-6
