Restoried

There's a word that keeps coming to my mind: restoried. 

Not restored but restoried. I think I was introduced to it by the Lectio 365 Bible app a while back. It's not that God gives you back what you lost. He rewrites the story.

We mess up. We call ourselves failures, write ourselves off as irredeemable. But that's not how he sees us. As we've been packing up, moving home, and trying to settle in, I've been sitting with the difference between being restored and being restoried. Restored just gives you back what was. Restoried hands you something new.

We've moved home but it's not the same. It's the same house. Same city. Probably the same friends, the same church. But, in a very real way, we are starting over.

I hope I've shared this with the family more than once, because my initial instinct was to think we're just going back. But Pocahontas had it right (yes, the Disney version): "you can't step in the same river twice." We've been gone two years. People moved away. People moved in. Nothing slots back into place like we never left. It won't be normal. It won't be the same.

So as we've prepared to return home, I've found a new word: we're starting afresh. That's helped, because I am walking on the same sidewalk. Sleeping in the same house, and even on the same mattress tonight as two years ago (so very comfortable. I've missed it). But if my focus was to return — to get back to our old way of life, our old community — I'm chasing something that's already gone. I'm chasing nostalgia, or a memory. If I choose to start afresh instead, I get options. I can pick back up the things that were good, healing, worth keeping. And I can also let some things go, just because I did them before doesn't mean I have to again. I can stay open to God saying, "I have something different." He can re-story my life.

I found this line from the app as they quote John Koessler: "Sabbath forms rest, by which we are not so much restored as restoried." One of the prayers that came with it:

Father, restory us today. We stand at the crossroads and ask for the ancient paths (Jeremiah 6:16). Root us in the faith of our fathers and mothers, as we engage your word today. Jesus, maker of tables and teller of stories, create in us a new imagination, we pray. Invoke in us greater celebration, and grant to us new language with which to sow your eternal word into a tired world.

When I sit with that, I can let go of the old story — the old home, the old community, the old way I looked at life — and reach for something healthier. Something new. I'm open, not closed off.

A new story frees you from all the old entanglements. You stop feeling like you have to do it the way you did it before, just because that's how it's always been done. You get to imagine instead. Explore. Restorying changes us. Not just what happens next, but who we are and how we see ourselves.

Microstresses

While I (Jeff) lived on the ship, I thought about the concept of microstress. It's probably a common and popular word in today's vernacular. But over there, I kept thinking about how nothing in and of itself was necessarily overwhelming or too much. It was just all these little things, all these aggravations, that sometimes made it hard to function effectively.

So what do I mean by that?

Every day, you have to (should) take a malaria tablet. For some people it's fine. For others it upsets their stomach. For others it has worse side effects. Sometimes you have to switch from one tablet to a different one — maybe you take a daily tablet, or a weekly tablet. Maybe you tried the weekly tablet and had hallucinations, so you had to switch to the daily. Maybe the daily tablet caused poor sleep. Mine were mostly ok. My stomach was mostly fine, but I could tell it was off. That's 20 of the last 24 months. That's quite a bit of time to have your stomach be mildly upset.

But more than that: did your wife take her malaria tablet? Did your kids? Have your kids taken it recently? You were off ship — oh, you know what, just yesterday I saw a mosquito flying around on ship. I wonder if that mosquito had malaria. I just got a text from a Sierra Leonean who has had malaria many times letting me know they haven't gotten back to me because they've had malaria for several days. Ouch. Okay, did I take mine already today? Maybe I took it twice. I really don't want to overdose on malaria tablets, but I also don't want to get malaria. I don't think one of the kids took their malaria tablet every day this week — better double-check, better watch them take it this time. I'm going to set a reminder on my phone to watch them swallow it tomorrow morning. This kid's prescription bottle is pretty low. This kid has an almost-full bottle — I wonder if they're not taking it, or maybe they're taking it from their sister's bottle instead.

What's another English word for...I don't remember that word. We speak a much more literal English most days. There are people I can speak to in colloquialisms, or clichés, or metaphors, but usually I have to end my statement or question with "does that make sense?" Were there any words that were weird or difficult? I wonder if that person understood me. How could I say that in simpler English? Maybe I used an Americanism. Maybe I used a cliché. I wonder if the British word would land better here, more people would understand it than the American word.

See, all these things are just microstresses throughout the day. And then you add on top of that: the organization has its headquarters in America, the ships are in Africa, many of the volunteers are European. You have this confluence of different cultures. The ship is registered in Malta, so technically we're in the EU and their rules. But most of the leadership is American. But we're serving Africans. Actually, West Africans. Actually, Sierra Leoneans. What's the culturally appropriate way of approaching this situation, or that thing?

I sent an email to the bank and haven't heard back. Oh right, I need to call them — they don't really respond to email. How do you greet them again? Do I say it in English, or is it better in Krio?

I heard a patient isn't doing well. That's a bummer. There's nothing I can do about it. Three crew members each have a financial difficulty, and there's only so much I can do, because next week it'll be someone else with a difficulty. This guy's dad died, and he needs to travel this week to bury him, but he doesn't have enough money.

What do you do when you drive through Freetown and see a bunch of beggars? Some of them are missing arms, or legs. Crippled, in a wheelchair. That person looks blind. I wonder if they actually are. They're begging anyway. What do you do?

I'd better not have a salad, because that's uncooked — better just eat cooked foods, unless I want to get sick again.

Getting cabin fever. We need to get off ship. But it's going to be exhausting, because of all that traffic, and the kids are tired of driving through Freetown and standing out with their blonde hair. What else to do? This country has so many needs — it feels like a bottomless pit.

This crew member has worked 60 or 70 hours this week. I wonder how I can help them. Some of these people have insane hours. Some of these people have good boundaries. And sometimes there's just stuff happening in the hospital all the time, and they really need to be there to save lives. What do you do?

What do you do?