welcome home

For some people reverse culture shock is worse than adjusting to a foreign culture. Mentally preparing to return to my mother country made it easier to acclimate upon re-entry. While living in Turkey I learned to roll with the punches. It's not uncommon for a trip to the big grocery store to take three hours instead of 45 minutes as I wondered around the store searching for aluminum foil, soy sauce, or any other moderately obscure item on my list. Spending several extra minutes to look for a bus or find the ticket station wasn't abnormal. Arriving back in California I knew I wouldn't have a car and that I'd have to find different ways to get around. Walking an hour to church last week wasn't that big of deal. A year ago I was living one mile from church and had never as much as rode my bike. Now I live nearly four miles away and I've already walked it once. Obviously there were some things I forgot to plan for though.

My first Sunday back at church was very low key. In fact in the morning I didn't even go because the Euro Cup finale was on TV and I wasn't about to miss Spain demolishing Italy. On my second Sunday though I jumped right back in and served with the greet team that I worked with a year ago. While the majority of the people serving on that team are different than last year I resumed position at the front door joyfully shaking hands until my own hand hurt. I love saying welcoming people to church. While greeting at the front door people move past me with track star strides or get lost in the glowing screen of their mobile phone but I try to slow them down enough to shake hands. Some people take the time to say hello and introduce themselves, but usually it's just a quick handshake as they walk by.

The people who do stop to chat are usually already friends of mine. But on Sunday I had a guy start asking me questions; he turned out to be quite chatty. Suddenly he blubbered out, "I just surrendered my life to God today." He had been raised in a Catholic church and was so focused on doing what he thought was right and required of him that he missed knowing the Lord. As he talked he poured out his thoughts and confessed that he had been to three of the four Sunday services at our church that day. For the first time he encountered his Savior; he continued coming because he wanted to sing praises to God. He swelled with joy. Before he left that evening he found me yet again and we talked a bit more. As we prayed together I celebrated not only what God was doing in his life but also thanked the Lord for allowing me to be a part of it. I have greatly missed moments like this; it's evident that the Holy Spirit is unmistakably at work in people's.  I can handle more of these surprising God moments when he reminds me that this shouldn't be culture shock but rather what I pray for and expect.