As Deep Cries Out to Deep

I will lift my eyes to the Maker of the mountains I can't climb

I will lift my eyes to the Calmer of the ocean's raging wild
I will lift my eyes to the Healer of the hurt I hold inside
I will lift my eyes to You
-"I Will Lift My Eyes" Bebo Norman

Deep cries out to deep
              in the roar of your waterfalls;
                                                        all your waves and breakers
                                                                                                  have swept over me.
                                                                                                                   Psalm 42:7

Coming home feels like getting knocked over by waves and choosing pearls. But mostly, getting knocked over by waves.

I have been back in the U.S. for about a week. The henna tattoos that Sherina and Ledu covered my limbs with the night before I left have almost completely disappeared. I sit here, looking at the remnants of the thin brown lines covering my skin, feeling like they disappeared all too fast. I tried to replicate my name in Malayalam just as they did on my other arm, but it doesn't look anything like their writing.


When I walk around the house or outside, I keep hearing Malayalam words for different things, making me realize that I know a lot more Malayalam than I thought I knew. I am still wearing sandals, as closed-toe shoes feel really strange, and pants, long sleeves, a fleece and a scarf, because even though it's about 70 outside, it's about 30 degrees cooler than what I was used to.

I still have nail polish on only my non-eating hand, in true Kerala style. Though I'm looking around me, I'm seeing the faces of those in India. My mind wanders when anyone is talking to me, and I have to make a conscious effort not to shake my head, indicating "yes."

Yes, I'm home, but home is very different now. Home is the same, I guess, but I'm very different. Truly, I feel like I'm in a foreign country again. I know that this is normal. It fades a little with each passing day, just like the henna fades from my skin. I'm not quite in India, not quite here either... Maybe I'm still on the plane and it hasn't really landed yet.

I know that I'm with family, but I've left just as much family behind. "Are you happy to be home?" everyone asks. "Are you relieved?" Yes....and no. It depends on the moment. I do know that it was right for me to come home, though in God's timing and not in my own timing or in man's. I'm feeling much better, but also majorly confused as to where I am sometimes. Though in some ways I was truly ready to leave India, in other ways I distinctly was NOT ready. I was nowhere near ready to say goodbye to my new family-Gigi Sir and his family- and my sisters, the girls at the hostel. And so many others. But I never would have been ready. I think of certain people and family back in India and my heart aches I miss them so much, even though I've been in touch with them every day since I flew back. I felt actual physical pain in saying goodbye to everyone and in remembering them now. It's all so fresh it hurts.

Coming home, my street, house and room seem foreign to me. I have finally unpacked and put away my things, a week later. But there sits a pile of unopened goodbye letters and cards on my dresser that I haven't had the heart to open yet.

It's a strange place to be, wherever I am right now, floating somewhere between India and home, kinda like a plane that isn't really sure where to land. My feet aren't exactly sure where to plant, but I am slowly coaxing myself back to where I used to live, which feels like more new territory. Wherever I am right now, I know that I'm in the center of His hand.

Feelings, feelings...of all kinds and shapes and sizes... What are feelings? They wash over me. I dream vividly of India and wake to find myself back here, and all of reality floods over me, knocking me over in the waves. I stand up in between, but I still get knocked down by it all. There's lots to miss, things not to miss, things to rediscover, things to undiscover, mostly things I had discovered that I didn't know I had discovered...tons of things that never got sorted out but are now ready to be filed somewhere. Must they be filed? How long can I just keep them sitting all sprawled out in front of me?

Mostly is just this feeling that I have something so huge to share, but accompanying it, some hesitation of how to go about it. When someone asks, "How was India?" I feel like I'm going to explode. I feel the same way I think I'd feel if someone asked me, "How were the past five years of your life?" Mostly I just need to start to process...to start to sort through the thousands and thousands of thoughts and shells and pearls and feelings and impressions, to sift them for the nuggets that God desires for me to share. After all, I can't dump my entire experience over everyone's head. I can barely surface from it all myself.  I need to prayerfully spend lots of time considering what big lessons and experiences God desires most for me to share with others. I need to choose my pearls. I don't think that this will become clear right away, but after lots of time and lots of prayer. I can't wait to start sharing here about India, but I also can wait, because I'm not really ready to talk about it like it's in the past. I'm still so there in my mind. I feel like I'm grieving, in ways, grieving a friend, grieving a me that no longer exists, a me in India. It seems dramatic to describe this as grieving but it feels very similar to the times in my life I have grieved. Something that was, and was really really strong, loud, and powerful, is no more, or at least I'm no longer a part of it. Suddenly I'm back, back to "familiar" settings, not quite sure how I got here, alternately feeling like I took a long sea voyage and at other times like I just kinda landed here on this new shore, still wet and sandy. One feeling I do NOT feel is the feeling that it wasn't that long ago that I left home. It feels like years have passed. And I guess, in the number of new experiences, adventures, sights, relationships, and such, years have passed. And they were good, long, and full years.

It seems crazy to think that I was only in India eight months. It'll take me many, many more to live out in my mind all that I physically lived out. And I welcome this process, this mammoth filing project, this grieving, as it were, knowing that God has given me so much to share. I am excited to share with you all in person, but I'm very grateful for this time of processing, however long it may last. I'm thankful for the comfort of my home to sit and write and cry and get angry and sad and smile at things thousands of miles away and think it all out. But mostly, right now, I'm just in denial that I'm not in India anymore. Nonetheless, the Great Adventure of following after Him continues.

Am I found ready?

Ready for healing,
       ready for sharing,
                 ready for taking what is and allowing it,
                                     drop
                                                            by drop
                                                                                    by drop

                                                                                                    to become what was. 

It will come. I feel like each memory is a precious pearl I want to save, but who would have room for so many pearls? Besides, you can't make a necklace with all those, you have to choose the best pearls and wear them and share them.

Slowly but surely, it will come. Maybe little waves here and there, little pools of thoughts and memories collecting. Like a drop falling in a pool that spreads ripples, may my words be. May they be His words. May I choose them carefully, like a polished shell. May I walk with Him gently, peacefully, and patiently as we explore this new shore together, with the other shore so nearby in sight. Right now it's so close I could reach out and touch it, but in reality, it is the distant shore of India.

So loudly, deep cries out to deep on the beaches of my soul. All His waves and breakers have swept over me, and I lay here, wet and sandy, not getting up, letting the waves wash over me, at least for a little while longer.