American Rejects are what we call ourselves. We won’t ever quite fit in America anymore, I believe, but we’re still Americans. I’ve mentioned this before, but I can’t help but think on this as our time for “furlough” nears.
A dear friend once said, “God is preparing us to go to America [through our homesickness].” But preparation hurts. I feel the homesickness they say comes and goes, but I can’t see how this will help in America. 31 days, I’ll be the first to tell you, is how many days we have until we’re flying out to “our country.”
Today, America is 225 years old. It and its culture are at the very heart of who I am. But America is not a “normal” country.
If all we see are people like us, we never see how weird we really are. America is often seen as a “melting pot” and it’s totally true! I was telling my Ugandan friend just the other day: “If you were to go to America and find a ‘Ugandan’ food restaurant, even the posh wouldn’t taste the same.” We cultivate everything to our liking. Bigger, better, sweeter, easier, longer, funner.
And this is not normal.
I’m not “normal”, not even by American standards! Pastor’s kid, missionaries’ kid—and now my grammar is WAY off of what my English teacher instructs me of. America won’t be normal to me. It won’t even be the “normal” I left. Its going to be America: a strange place on the other side of the world. At least until the day I forget what is forever implanted in my heart.
I didn’t, by the way.), “Eh, somehowly.” Or when I mix up my verb tenses and turn adverbs to adjective, just know—I have the sickness of not being normal.