Greetings! First of all, THANK YOU to all who visited with me during my month back in America. I am so humbled and grateful by all of the love, attention and effort each of you made to give me some of your time during the busy holiday season. It was such a blessing to reconnect, even if for just a few minutes! And to those of you that came to the presentation day that I never got a chance to speak to, I saw you in the audience and I wish I had more time to visit, but for your presence alone, I am thankful.

Culture shock. We’ve all heard about it. Some of us have experienced it. No one can predict exactly how it will affect a person. To some, the factor of the unknown makes him or her avoid any such experience outside the comfort zone. For others, the benefits of new and different cultural experiences outweigh the cost. I fall into the latter category. Does that mean it’s always easy? No. Does that mean I always enjoy the change? Nope. Does that mean I’m always stellar at handling the shock? Naw dawg. On the contrary—I’m AWFUL at handling it ALONE. What I do know about crossing cultural barriers is that it forces me to be dependent on the One who created and still defines all cultures. It makes me rely on the One who fits into all cultures. It makes me learn from the One who blends all cultures. It makes me seek the Onewho can remove all barriers that make crossing cultures “shocking” and turn them into “thrilling”.

In my preparations for returning to America, I prayed and meditated on many things, but I knew one of my biggest struggles was going to be living in the moment. I know that no one but God knows when his or her time to go will be, so I wanted to be PRESENT. Take each moment as it comes and make the most of it. I was torn–excited to go home but really sad about leaving my children and my family here. Knowing that I would only be spending four weeks in the US though, I wanted to be intentional about my time, rather than living in waiting to come back to Uganda. I sought to make the most out of my time with friends and family without expectations, letting God lead the way each day. Because I had prayed, prepared, and set minimal expectations, I thought I was ready to face the challenge of culture shock. HA! Wrong.

When I landed at Dulles Airport (Washington D.C.), my iron stomach was yelling at me, telling me that it had been working hard for the past year—keeping me healthy, fighting off foreign bugs. I had a little layover, so naturally, I happily obliged and headed down the terminal in search of American grub. I could hardly even remember what food options there might be, so I just began strolling to see. McDonald’s, KFC, Italian, Mexican, sandwiches, soups, pizzas, chicken, burgers, cafes, dine-in, carry-out, fast food: SENSORY OVERLOAD.  I began pacing back and forth, faster and faster, trying to comprehend things. I didn’t know what was happening. The tears began to flow. All I knew to do was simply go back to the gate to sit. My brain was working so hard, I gave up and felt numbness wash over. My little town of Karuma has the same fresh produce week after week. The same food stands make the same few snacks: rolex, chapatti, fried cassava. When I feel like a fancy meal, there is one restaurant with a one page menu. So much for living in the present. I cried out in prayer with so many emotions—anger, frustration, confusion, annoyance, apathy, sadness. This seemed so unfair. I forced myself back to reality, got my act together on the outside, and tried again. I ignored everything and settled into the numbness, telling myself I would try to comprehend reality again later. That was enough processing for today. At 8:30 am, I ate a cheeseburger. Now THAT was a great choice.

I had boarded the plane off the hot, dry tarmac and got on the plane in my capris, t-shirt and crocs. Fast forward hours upon hours. I stepped off the plane onto the frozen, snow-covered tarmac in my capris, t-shirt and crocs (now with socks). (Side note: Ironically, I have never in my life had to walk on the tarmac at an American airport before, and here I was, not at all prepared for the season change…okay, God, I see you!) My worlds had collided. My body was mad at the cold and refused it. My mind was skeptical but momentarily accepted the comforts of my past. Dare I say, I was an African-American…? 😀 I don’t know if I can accurately express with words everything that was going on inside. I think the best symbol of expression I can come up with are my crocs in the snow. There I stood in the “new” crocs I had worn for a year of warm weather. The new season had worn off, and they were now broken in and molded to my feet only. They had become a comfort as I traveled around Uganda and even other parts of Africa. They were now worn, tired and flawed. They were distinguishable to me—everyone who knew me, knew my crocs. They were an identity and defining factor. They represent the African Kelsey. Those crocs now met the snow. A thing of my childhood and past. Call me crazy but something I greatly missed. One of the most common questions that I received from Ugandans was, “Have you ever seen snow?” I became known by snow (even my skin showed that in the beginning J). Snow is mentally comfortable. The properties of snow are predictable and refreshing. Snow brought joyful memories of snowmen and snowball fights. Snow is unforgettable. Snow is an identity and defining factor. It represents the American Kelsey.

My time in America was filled with familiar faces and places. It was wonderful to be home.This was my world of snow. Everything was comfortable. Everything was easy. But that was also my biggest struggle. My brain sort of took a vacation that I couldn’t control. It felt like I had been switched to auto-pilot mode. My days were fairly predictable. I could easily navigate while driving. (Although, I did turn on the windshield wipers, instead of the turn signal more times than I’m willing to admit…ha!) I know the dangerous neighborhoods. I know the language of most everyone. I came to the realization that I am American “street-smart”. I know the ins and outs and am confident in my abilities to thrive.

Here in Uganda, I can’t tell one tribe from another very easily or what language someone is going to speak. I don’t know very many villages or districts. I certainly don’t understand the government or how to always handle all the country’s corruption. I’m a slightly different color than that majority of people here, so I stick out just a slight bit…haha. Even when I don’t realize it, I always have a sort of guard put up and am on alert while navigating the culture and country. I am always learning and trying to comprehend. Because of these factors, things in Uganda seem to be much more unpredictable, thus, more mentally and emotionally taxing. While home, I was living a life of my past. It felt like I was just going through the motions of someone else’s life. I still understand that life very well, but it’s not mine anymore. While I was away, lives changed drastically, and I knew this would happen, because it also happened to me. Friends got married, their children grew up, they completed new degrees, people moved homes, people died, people were still the same in many ways, but their lives didn’t stop changing. Not that this is a bad thing at all. Even for me, I matured and grew immensely (probably more than I even realize or would like to admit J). I was like a puzzle piece in the wrong box—on the outside, I seemed to match all the ones around me, but I just couldn’t seem to fit perfectly anywhere. On the bright side, as my kids will tell you, I can over-talk. Conversations come naturally and easily for me, so I was able to relate to people on a basic functional and relational level. But on the inside, I was battling the lies of Satan that said I shouldn’t even try, because I’ve been changed in a way that people won’t understand me. I’m alone. I’m caught in this in-between, where my worlds don’t seem to align. Where my crocs met the snow.

As time approached for me to return to Uganda, I began to find peace in knowing I was going back to a place where people understand. A place where I had most recently adapted and knew the routine. A place where I could be more in control, even when days are unpredictable. A place that I felt needed and had work to be done. I was going back home. Back to the world of my crocs. Oh boy, how wrong I was. Again.

I touched down here in Uganda and breathed a sigh of relief. I was home. I had my crocs back, both literally and figuratively. But it sure didn’t take much time for me to feel out of place. Again. WHAT?! How can this be?! How is it possible that I am experiencing isolation in BOTH my homes?? I was devastated. I wanted out. I wanted away. I wanted normal. I wanted to be numb to emotions. I wanted to belong. I became annoyed.

“Sometimes the place where you’re used to is not the place where you belong.” – Queen of Katwe

(Side note: Queen of Katwe is a new Disney movie, set in Kampala, Uganda, based on a true story. Go to redbox/Netflix and watch it! Disney does an incredible job portraying and mimicking the Ugandan culture. I was so impressed with how real, authentic and true the characters are to reality here.)

I won’t lie and tell you that things got easy quickly, or that the problems went away. I want to tell you that I have it all together now and that this blog will have a happy ending. But I can’t. I will tell you that I haven’t completely understood everything the Lord is teaching me. I will tell you that I am stubborn. I will tell you that I am still changing, and that, that will always be true. I will also tell you the beautiful and harsh truth that Jesus spoke to me. “Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit” (Ephesians 2:19-22). I am not from this world. God has accepted me into his family. I’m from the world of God’s people. My home is not Uganda. My home is not America. My home is Jesus. I don’t have to fit in anywhere, because with Jesus, I fit in everywhere. But here’s the real truth: I am a sinner. I am human. I want to feel at home in this world. I want to belong somewhere tangible. Over and over again, I have to fight the temptation to seek refuge in the world. I have to humble myself and pick up my cross. “As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts” (Ephesians 2:1-3)

I’m still navigating. I’m still processing. I’m still tackling culture shock. I’m wearing my crocs in their rightful home, but their time spent in the snow has forever changed them.

(Stay tuned for the sequel to this blog 😀)

Prayers and Praises:
+ Jesus is ALIVE—he is a living God that desires a relationship with each of us!
+ and – We have an incredible team of missionaries and Ugandans here currently, but changes are always happening. Pray for leadership and that God would send the right people at the right times, while we practice trust and patience.
– RG has an abundance of teenagers. With teenage attitudes. And teenage rebellion. It feels like they just all hit that life stage over night. Need I say more?

Thanks for reading and continuing to love me.

Kelsey