Everything New

I'm reading a book for old missionaries about all the crazy things people go through in returning from their field of service to spend time in their home country.  One of the chapters is all about how tough it is to "go home."  Things change and the missionary ends up out of sync with what's new since their last "home" visit.

"Coming home" this time has been smooth in some ways and a little crazy in others.  Byron and I haven't had a real furlough for six years.  On one hand our recent short visits pathed the way for an easier transition.   But staying for a longer this time around means we don't have to feel as rushed to go and do and see, even though we are always reminded of that the pages of the calendar are passing by.

Keeping in touch with our friends in Brazil is uniquely easy nowadays allowing us the privilege of almost instant contact, real time decision making and even seeing regular photos of my cat.  We can send money quickly and even check our home security cameras from our cell phones.

Things still pop up to remind us we don't quite belong.  Last week I went in to Subway on the way home from watching the grands all day long.  I was hungry, too.  Byron suggested I go ahead and stop to pick up something for supper.  So there I was in line staring at all the possibilities and feeling suddenly overwhelmed.  

We have Subway in Brazil, but I'm used to the options there.  Everything on the menu looked odd and different.  But the line was moving slowly so I had time.  Time to decide.  I was ready.  Finally it was my turn and I said the number of my order.  I want a #18, footlong.  Whew.  Then the girl said, What kind of bread?  Ugh.  I hadn't thought of that question.  I covered well and just said, How about normal.

And just when I thought I was going to leave without anyone knowing I was a confused expat missionary wondering what I was doing in that line anyway, I decided to be brave and ask for one of the desserts.  I chose the cheapest, a US$2 choice - a foot-long churro.  But when I opened my mouth Portuguese came out, "shoo-hoo." 

The worker gave me the funniest look.  Oops, my secret was out.  For the life of me I had no idea how to say that silly little word properly, so I did the best thing - I pointed to the sign.  It worked.  I made it home only slightly scathed.  We ate our foot-long sub on normal bread and ate our churro that didn't really taste very good, by the way, not like the ones at home in Brazil.

"Home in Brazil?" Yeah, I have two homes.  I love them both.  And the churros in one taste much better.  Sometime the conflict of having two homes is crazy, sometimes it's just silly.  I plan to enjoy the next six months, spend lots of time with family, and work to avoid anxious moments in fast food restaurants.