April’s Fool

So I have been trying to figure out what is going on with me…what’s going on in my head.

I feel disconnected – happy to be home, upset to not be in Uganda.  I wanted to leave Uganda.  I wanted to be home.  I wanted this whole process to finally be over.

I feel guilty that I am happy, guilty that I am upset.  I want to cry, but feel like a traitor to my kiddos and husband.  I feel like a traitor to myself – isn’t crying and being upset a lack of faith in God’s will for my life?  Shouldn’t I be rejoicing in what God has in store for me?  I do recognize that His will is better for me than my own desires, but can I mourn what I lost?  Can I mourn what is taking so long, and is so painful to bear?

I feel like I have no direction, as though I am in a holding pattern, or rather, locked in a cage and I am pacing.  Except, I am home, with my beautiful children, and I am not caged.  Finally, I am in a place where I can do whatever I want, eat and drink anything I want.  My bed is immaculate.  I can go out the front door and drive my own car wherever I need, and  go back in the house and I turn on the AC and the lights and I can take a shower and let it pour all over my face and not worry about what I might get or swallow on contract in the process.  My clothes smell amazing and are so soft and I am wearing my own wedding ring again, and I can brush my hair because it is not a nasty unconditioned, swamp water mess (although the sun did bleach it out quite a bit).

So I am thankful.  And I am so lost.

I was supposed to be spending all of this time with Benny – teaching him about cars, and animals, and light switches, and grocery stores, and closets and dressers because he has so many outfits that he needs a dresser.  And toilets in America flush, and showers can be warm and hot and cold, and the pretty lights hanging in the air tell drivers when to go and stop – there are no military police directing traffic, and if someone bumps your car, we call the cops, and motorcycles are not taxis, and they obey traffic laws also (or are supposed to).

So I sit here and discern God’s Will.  What does He want from me?  What is expected of me?  What is my new normal?!?  What the heck am I supposed to be doing?  My focus is gone.  For the past 3 years, my focus has been on a few set things, and now that I am home, I have none of them.  My husband told me to do something that I really enjoy, but I am not sure what that would be.  I fold laundry like a champ.  I can organize files like a pro.  I hate to sweep, and love to clean out the attic….but I did the attic before I left.  I folded 6 loads of laundry yesterday and it is not ready to be folded yet today.  I could get the car washed and detailed, but it is supposed to rain on Thursday and we have a soccer tournament this weekend, so detailing is pointless.  I could plan the kids summer sports camps, but have no idea about Benny so I would hate to put someone throughout normal summer routine of 6 AM swim team, 8 AM Mass, 8-whatever camp, night time summer outdoor soccer schedules.

I look around and see so much that has to be done.  I managed to unpack suitcases yesterday and get them put away, but I kept one packed with what I might need for going back to Uganda.  It is Lent.  I am supposed to be focused on change, and spiritual awakening and reform.  My heart should be focused on eternity, not triviality.  Everything around me will turn to dust – so I should be focused on my children, on souls, because that is what matters.  But I can’t seem to focus on anything. 

I wake up every few hours.  I feel exhausted.  I want to fake smile at the whole world, but people keep hugging me.  Grace was the first hug I got at school.  I wanted to cry because the hug was so random and so perfect.  I was standing outside of the school, feeling like a complete outsider – I had been gone from here for the past 7 weeks, and life goes on without you.   I was not excited about my 6^th grader going to camp, I just wanted to go home with all of my children, and hang out, and have fun and pretend that there are no outside obligations and commitments to attend to.  But off he went with his friends, and there I was, nobody really knowing what to say to me, so not saying anything, and there was dear sweet Grace – marching straight towards me, with a huge hug, and then she marched back to her car before I could cry.  It was perfect.

It was kind of God’s way of saying, “Hey kid, the hurt is there.  It is real.  Your suffering and waiting is real.  You must be in two places at once.  I still have more to teach you, and you still have so much more to learn and grow.  You MUST trust me, or you will go mad – angry, bitter, disenchanted, joyless.”

Yeah, I hear Him.  And I am trying.  Focus would be a nice reprieve – a to do list would be a blessing.  A nap might help the situation, because getting up at 4 AM after tossing and turning all night leaves me feeling yucky all day long.

To make matter’s worse, I got an email from the US embassy in Uganda that says they finally shipped the file, and it should be in Nairobi by next week.  I feel ill.  I was so mad when I was reading the email.  Their definition of why they send files to Nairobi floored me.  I want to call them and scream at them – “What part of my file is suspicious?  Is it because the man who found him was a Catholic priest?  Because Daughters of Mary took care of him?  Because police chiefs and heads of the child protection units were my witnesses?  Is it because he is chronically ill or maybe because advertisements ran in local churches and newspapers for weeks every year with his updated pictures asking if this child looks like anyone they know, or if they knew of someone who was pregnant 3 years ago, but who has no child?  Is it because even after all of this, and all of the paperwork, and all of the due diligence and police investigating, and everything else, nobody has come forward yet, and so white Americans with 5 kids, who certainly do not need another child, especially one with multiple medical conditions, came forward to accept responsibility for this child?  Is that what is suspicious – some crazy, white, scripture quoting, American woman shows up, after spending 3 years and $55,000 fighting her way through red tape and time,  and wants to take home the child that she fought to obtain legal guardianship over?!?  OMG. 

Praise God that I have stopped talking to people right now, because I am not thinking good “Christian” thoughts.  My thoughts are that of an angry mother tiger, ready to rip someone’s throat open.  I take a deep breath in, and breathe out a fake smile, my head cocked to the side, whispering silent prayers to calm my anxious soul.  

I imagine this will have to come on out sooner or later – I have to purge all of this out of me in order to have a clean slate.  I was thinking about maybe doing it tomorrow.  Tomorrow sounds great – kids at school, husband at work, come home and scream bloody murder for 5 minutes?!?  Maybe it will come out as a gut wrenching sob that hurts your soul because you cannot breath or move or talk.  I think I need to do this to get it over with.  As long as I can pick myself up again, and find focus, then maybe losing my image of control might be worth it.  I say 'image' because control is never something attainable, just the thought of it makes us feel good.