It comes in waves

So they say of this repatriation process.  It’s true.  At first it was the marveling in all of the goodness and comfort of home.  (see list)  And at the same time feeling like we’re on a different planet, in a parallel universe.  Trying to keep two lives in one head.  Hard.  Wondering all the time what our Indian friends, especially those that have very few resources and little education, would think of our life here.  Of the grocery store.  Of the wide, clean highways.  Of enormous public libraries.

 

Then, and I truly don’t mean this to carry nearly all the weight of its full meaning—but I can’t think of a better term to liken it to—something akin to post-traumatic stress disorder.  Realizing how stressful parts of our lives were in India.  How tightly wound parts of my soul were there…  the angst of living at SUCH a higher standard of living than the overwhelming majority of Indians.  Of having several people (see post below) in our lives, in our HOME EVERY SINGLE DAY, knowing they had many needs and so many less resources and opportunities.  Being confronted by this fact on a daily basis, thinking about our purchases as percentages or multiples of our driver’s salary.

These are good things to encounter.  It is good to get out of my comfortable, well-to-do American world where I rarely encounter needy people and their needs pale in comparison to those in developing countries.  But man, it’s hard.  I am praying that I will be able to continue to think and grow and gain from our time India.  We pray that it has changed us.

These thoughts may sound trite.  And even if they are, they are what’s on my mind now.  That’s what you get for reading this blog. :)