The Home Stretch

Women don’t have hot flashes. They have power surges.

That quote is dedicated to all the middle age women reading my blog right now. I saw it on the refrigerator at my missionary dinner and thought immediately, “WOW! I can’t wait to put that in my blog.” There I go thinking in terms of blogging. That is when you know you have problems. When you start thinking in terms of blogging. Or when you start thinking in terms of writing to middle age women. ☺ I’m just kidding; I love you all and am so grateful for your prayers.
Let me tell you about the missionary dinner we went on. It was on Friday and the group was Kiersten, Justin Struik, and I. We went and met with Allen and Heather Hall. After a two hour drive to go about 10 kilometers (traffic here is out of control) we came to their apartment. I almost cried as we were served a tossed salad, spaghetti, jello with peaches, and espresso (real coffee not instant!). It seems that whenever I come to a point where I am struggling with my experience here God always comforts me with my favorite food. That is the second time this semester that spaghetti has pulled through. It was great to talk with some people who are putting into practice what we talk about in class every day. Allen and Heather were probably about 60 years old and had been in Uganda for three years. They were completely self supporting and started the mission called Pearl of Africa. We had a great time as our hosts were not shy and felt free to laugh with us and share of their missions work. *Heather laughed at some of my toilet trauma stories and told me that they are so much funnier when telling them to someone who understands what it is really like. They shared a couple with us that left me rubbing tears of laughter from my eyes. At the end of our time Allen anointed us with oil from the Holy Land and blessed our work in the future. I felt so rejuvenated after meeting these people. On the way home our driver played an old country music CD much to the delight of Justin. There were such classics as ‘The Gambler’ and many other old time hits. It made me think of dad.
These weeks after rural home stays have been hard to regain focus and drive for school work. Ick. I have a funny side note for anyone reading this from Minnesota: When we were driving to the top of Sipi Falls and got stuck in the mud my natural response was, “UFF DAH.” To this comment a girl from Oklahoma looked at me and said, “What does that even mean? Did you make it up? Kiersten and you say it all the time.” I laughed hysterically and explained that it is a very common phrase from good old Minnesota. As grandma says, “Uff dah is when you drop your gum in the chicken yard. Ish dah is when you pick it back up.” For the rest of the ride Uff dah was the exclamation of choice. I know that doesn’t really relate to anything except that is my point. I am having a hard time focusing. ☺ I titled this blog “The Home Stretch” for a variety of reasons.
It all started walking home the other day. I was walking with Shannon and we were going up the big hill. Between breathes (as I don’t think we will ever make it up that stupid hill without breathing hard) she said, “Oh what is that thing we say when we are almost done…” I replied promptly, “The home stretch!” In my head thinking about all the pain that little phrase held for me when I would run track in high school. It seems that my time here right would be perfectly illustrated by the use of an analogy. So for those of you who liked my nightgown analogy here you go…
I remember a time when I was running at the sub section meet in seventh grade. I was running the two mile. Gross I know. I was in seventh place with two laps to go. For those of you not familiar with track you have to place in the top six to get a Minnesota State High School League medal. The top four girls advance to the section meet. Since I wasn’t too keen on the idea of having to run the race again a week later at sections, and since I wasn’t a good enough runner to be a place to contend for such an honor, my one goal was to place in the top six and stand on the medal podium. In light of that knowledge, seventh place is not a good spot to be in. My sister was standing at the two hundred meter line. She was always my biggest fan. In this particular instance I saw her out of the corner of my eyes wearing her red clown pants and she yelled, “RUN FASTER KURTY. You didn’t run all this way to place seventh.” I very coolly replied between strides, “Shut up.” I know not very Christian of me. Coming around for the final lap, still in seventh, Kara this time only cheered very loudly with positive comments. I remember starting my kick with about 250 meters left, my eyes on the feet of the girl in front of me. Battling her around the corner (something my coach always says is bad) I beat her to the finish line for that maroon ribbon. Of course I felt completely sick and my legs were wobbling but I did it. Task accomplished.
For me whenever I step up to the starting line of a race there are butterflies going completely wild in my stomach. I remember feeling the same way as I was packing my suitcase and getting the immunizations for this trip. All my thoughts were taken up with ideas about what my family would be like, what would the other students be like, what about the food, and so much more. Then the race begins and as soon as you sprint past the little cones and cut in is when you realize what you got yourself into. Eight long laps of running in circles. Or in this case three and half months away from friends and family, comfort foods and legitimate toilets. At that point it is easy to go into panic mode and to feel every last ache or pain in the body; it is easy to tell yourself things such as, “You aren’t going to make it out of this alive!” But alas as many of you know as soon as you get to about lap three you are in the groove and running isn’t so incredibly painful, for me this came when I found joy in returning home to my family. I started to get into the groove with school work and classmates. Then comes the halfway point. When you run by the little man with his fingers telling you how many laps to go and he says four you do a quick mental calculation and discover… “Hmmm... four laps that means half way... WHAT I’M ONLY HALF WAY!?! I’m way too tired to be only half way…” As anyone who was following my blog may have read the half way point was when I really was struggling with the weight of the world’s problems on top of missing my home. This is the time in the race where you fall on the encouragement of the few teammates who are always faithful. There are always one or two who are sitting in the same spot and never fail to yell, “Go Kurty!” as you run by their zone. It is during this time that you realize who it is that really has an interest in how you are doing. I begin to look forward to those brief moments of connection. So I thank all you at home who in some minor way have been taking the time to run me through the entire race. It means a lot. This is also the time of the race where you put your mind on your placement. The focus turns to capitalizing on every stretch and running in such a way as to get you in a good position at the end. For me that meant living each and every moment from my time here in Uganda. Alright and now finally it sneaks up on you. Before you know it the final lap is here. Everyone picks up the pace. Any thoughts you have had up until this point become vague memories as you fix your eye on the goal. I’m not yet at the sprint leg of the race, but I will predict the ending for you. I see the final 200 meters. My friends are telling me I’m almost done as I reply, “SHUT UP. I’m ceasing the moment and running the race here!” It is that time when the pain in your body becomes overwhelming. As you pump your legs it doesn’t feel like there will be enough to get you through. Then that numb feeling takes over. You no longer have control over moving as you body moves into autopilot and all you are doing is fighting to breath. The pain such as leaving my family here, being responsible with what I have learned, re-entering my old home, being a changed person, finals, and cultural frustrations all fight to take over my body. That is where I stand currently. I have my eyes on the goal, about to round the corner into the numbness. I know how it will feel as soon as I cross that line. For a couple minutes it will feel great. Then the fatigue sets in and I’m sick for twenty minutes. I come across the finish line and fall into one of my supporters arms and stay there. I then lay on the grass and wait for my body to recover. It always does although the effects of the race do not wear off for a long time. On top of that the memories never die. It is then that you think back and say to yourself… TASK ACCOMPLISHED. So there you go. I’m entering the home stretch.