The Waters are Calmer
Have you ever stood on one of those floating piers? Where it seems sturdy, so you’re feeling pretty good about it, but then a wave comes, or you step wrong, and then all of a sudden you’re thinking: I’m not so sure about this pier.
That is the same type of feeling I had when I got home from my last two I AM ART trips in Guatemala. Mostly everything is okay, but occasionally, I feel a wave come and I’m thrown off balance again. Those waves are often tinged with a sadness or nostalgia because I miss my trip so much. There are always reasons I am happy to be home again, but I can’t help but miss seeing the girls and their artwork, bonding with my team, and exploring the beautiful country of Guatemala
The first time I came home from an I AM ART camp (fall of 2016), I was standing on my metaphorical floating pier in the middle of some kind of raging storm. I was not at all prepared for all my heart had been through for the past 10 days and my reentry was difficult to say the least. I struggled with coming home after experiencing such a powerful kind of passion and desire for God’s work through Athentikos and I hated saying goodbye to so many people who had left their fingerprints in my heart.
I recently returned from my second I AM ART camp. When I was preparing to go on my trip this year, I was filled with anxiety, but had a hard time pinning down what made me so hesitant. It wasn’t until the last days of camp were approaching that I realized I was afraid of stepping off the comfort of solid land and back onto the floating pier. However, this year I joined a few of my team members for an additional three-day stay at Lake Atitlán to relax and process following the camp. Lake Atitlán is quite possibly the most beautiful place I have ever seen and my time there gave me a sense of peace, reflection, and meditation. Now I can’t say that the three days were my solution to everything because either way I’m still out on the pier; however, I can see the difference in where I am now versus where I was last year. For one thing, the waters are calmer.
My experience reminds me of the story of Jesus calming the storm in the bible (Matthew 8:23-27). My first year, in the midst of feeling lost in my return, I felt kind of angry; I wanted to wake Him up and ask “why aren’t you doing anything to stop this?” Then this year, the water was calm and I could feel His reply: “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” And as I sat in the dark, on a literal floating pier in Lake Atitlán, seeing my first shooting star, I knew that there was no reason to feel afraid.
Being at Lake Atitlán gave me the time to sit with God and listen to Him tell me not to be afraid. To learn to trust in His plan for me, for Athentikos, and for the children we work with each camp. I will probably never be able to go on one of these trips and come home and immediately go on with my life as usual. For that, I am grateful. I don’t want Athentikos’s impact to be so easily forgotten or ignored. When my heart is breaking it’s because I am experiencing the extraordinary fullness of it that God intended when He formed us. When I step foot onto my floating pier, it’s because God recognizes that we can’t know all of His wonder by staying on land.