Culture Shock

It hit me Sunday morning when the deluge from the shower head hit my back like a fire hose. It happens every time and I don't know why. It's as though I hold some self-loathing for those things that I have never had control over.

I rarely get culture shock from going to other cultures, its the coming back that gets me. In Honduras there was little to worry about. I knew I had to wake up at 6:30 in order have enough time to get ready for breakfast, morning devotional, and packing for the day. Each day was hot and filled with many challenges, among which were people yelling at me in a language I barely understood. But, I went to bed every night tired, satisfied, full of spirit.

It started when I got back into Hartsfield-Jackson. The worries I left in America hadn't disappeared, they just hadn't been able to get their passport in time. Slowly but surely, the worries of life and troubles that race through my mind returned. Sunday, I woke up heavy. Yeah, there was two-hour time difference, my bed was more comfortable, and I was dog tired, but I was worried about what would happen this week. As I walked up to the church building, a word escaped my lips that surprised me: "home."

It was strange, I've never thought of CV as home until now, but this is my family where I'm at. It changes the way I think of the members. In the Honduran church, everyone is hermano or hermana. There is a strong familial connection down there, even the gringos are hermanos. When I think of us as family it changes how I view individuals. Everyone has worth, regardless of what they can do for me. And, they have the right to challenge and change the way I think about and approach life.

Unfortunately, the culture shock is the uniqueness of this thought in America.

namaste

vaya con DIOS