Punctuation Mark
- The Dance Goes On -[From 28 July]
The bus from SOTV took off from Iringa this afternoon – and I was left standing with the Tanzanians.
With me, there was John and there was Mfaume; a soon to be ordained Pastor and a student preparing to advocate and work for the powerless. There was Robert and there was Neema; successful workers and proud parents of young children. There was also Serijo, twenty-nine like me; using his salary as a University Lecturer he is sending his young siblings to school.
En route for the coast was a bus full of Young Adults, College Students, and Assorted Others. Many of whom I have known since they were in Middle School. The days of Wacky Skits, Sing-a-Long Songs, and Crazy Games are in the past – mostly. Days spent in fifteen passenger vans to Duluth and Wind River seem like distant memories. Having spent two weeks in Tanzania they return home to a future latent with possibility. Where it will lead them all, Mungu tu anajua.
Seven years ago, I was on the other side of the glass.
Now, I am one who remains.
The past ten days have been a strange mixing and mashing of worlds, relationships, and emotions. For seven years I have been deeply involved and invested in communities of faith on both sides of the Atlantic. The joining and the parting of both have reminded me once again how I am inextricably connected in a web of relationships both here and abroad. And yet . . .
And yet change is in the air. I can’t name it or describe it but I can sense it. Where in the past I’ve always had a sense of certainty that I’d soon be returning ‘home’ again – whether that be in Apple Valley or Tungamalenga, now I’m not so sure. While I know I’m always welcome in both places, without meaning to or intending to, I may have begun moving on. My point of reference has switched. Ahead lays my final year at YDS and preparation for my year of internship. Where they will lead me, Mungu tu anajua.
Watching that bus rumble round the corner with my brothers and sister, I passed a transition point in my life’s narrative. Whether that mark turns out to be a comma, a semi-colon, a period, or elipsis dots remains to be written. . .
The bus from SOTV took off from Iringa this afternoon – and I was left standing with the Tanzanians.
With me, there was John and there was Mfaume; a soon to be ordained Pastor and a student preparing to advocate and work for the powerless. There was Robert and there was Neema; successful workers and proud parents of young children. There was also Serijo, twenty-nine like me; using his salary as a University Lecturer he is sending his young siblings to school.
En route for the coast was a bus full of Young Adults, College Students, and Assorted Others. Many of whom I have known since they were in Middle School. The days of Wacky Skits, Sing-a-Long Songs, and Crazy Games are in the past – mostly. Days spent in fifteen passenger vans to Duluth and Wind River seem like distant memories. Having spent two weeks in Tanzania they return home to a future latent with possibility. Where it will lead them all, Mungu tu anajua.
Seven years ago, I was on the other side of the glass.
Now, I am one who remains.
The past ten days have been a strange mixing and mashing of worlds, relationships, and emotions. For seven years I have been deeply involved and invested in communities of faith on both sides of the Atlantic. The joining and the parting of both have reminded me once again how I am inextricably connected in a web of relationships both here and abroad. And yet . . .
And yet change is in the air. I can’t name it or describe it but I can sense it. Where in the past I’ve always had a sense of certainty that I’d soon be returning ‘home’ again – whether that be in Apple Valley or Tungamalenga, now I’m not so sure. While I know I’m always welcome in both places, without meaning to or intending to, I may have begun moving on. My point of reference has switched. Ahead lays my final year at YDS and preparation for my year of internship. Where they will lead me, Mungu tu anajua.
Watching that bus rumble round the corner with my brothers and sister, I passed a transition point in my life’s narrative. Whether that mark turns out to be a comma, a semi-colon, a period, or elipsis dots remains to be written. . .
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