Untukmu Para Pengunjung

We just had a blessed few days in Kingston. It was great to see Bram & Anita and we fell in love with baby Wesley. It's hard to imagine how much love we're going to have for our own baby (although I have an idea from the way John kisses my belly and says "I love you! God bless you!" to our baby through my ever-expanding stomach every night!)

Let me share honestly. I had some mild panic attacks in Kingston. While we were there we saw and met many young couples with young children, beautiful houses, huge t.v.s and gorgeous backyards. We got a lot of advice on babies and what babies need. In Zim, if you are expecting, you save money in order to get a towel (to wrap the baby around you) plus some cloth diapers, a blanket, maybe some bottles... Here it seems like you "need" a mountain of furniture and supplies, and thinking about all the stuff we need made me panic. I cannot really explain how different this world of middle-class Canada is from the life we have been living in Zimbabwe. Although I have seen it with my own eyes, it is hard to conceive of the fact that both of these places are on the same planet. I am struggling mentally and emotionally to figure out how to "be." How to live in Canada while having experienced Zimbabwe. I know that God sent us to Zimbabwe and I know that we are not supposed to forget our experience there. I am just mentally straining to figure out how to incorporate those life lessons into the Canadian way of life. I am terrified of getting caught up in the consumerist rat-race that is North America, but I don't want to be a social recluse/bitter missionary either. "Stuff" is fleeting. At 4am yesterday we started wiping up water with towels because our friends' place (where we were staying in the basement) started flooding. Anything could change in a moment and all of our coveted "things" could disappear, so John and I have always valued people and experiences above things. But you need some things. A baby needs some things. How much? Right now, I have no idea!

To be honest, when we came home at Christmas, I had mild panic attacks the few nights before we were supposed to go back to Zimbabwe. At the airport, I was literally making myself sick (which I'm sure was a huge comfort for my parents!) I'm horrified that I'm admitting that to the world, because I know I shouldn't have felt that way. I love Zimbabwe and I loved our life there. But it was hard - physically, emotionally, spiritually, ethically. It's hard to watch people you love suffer. It's hard to see the place where you live get worse and worse and to know that it's a mad-made disaster. It's hard to feel helpless. It's hard to stress all the time and to know that you shouldn't stress because if you were a better person you would just trust God completely and not worry about "minor" or selfish issues like having water/electricity or finding food.

I am thankful for some friends who have been "defending" us on our blog about whether or not we should have left. These friends (and others who didn't comment) are being empathetic and not wanting us to feel worse than we already to about leaving. But I'm not upset that someone anonymous asked the question or whether or not we should have "retreated." It's a great question - something we wonder about every day. We have to live with the guilt associated with privilege. Privilege that allowed us to walk through those airport gates to an easy life, waving to people we love and care for who are struggling to survive in a place that gets worse and worse, day by day, week by week. It was heart-wrenching. Period.

And now it's: what now? what next? Now that we're here, how do we live our life? What impact does Zimbabwe have on my choices in Canada? And that's what we're trying to figure out. I guess I want you to keep remembering Zimbabwe and praying for people there, but we still need some prayer too! I'm wondering whether it's worthwhile to keep up this blog (since we intended it to share our life from Zim) but maybe it's helpful to someone somewhere to know some of the thoughts/feelings of someone coming back.