The Last Few Weeks of Ireland

In case you were wondering, I did not fly home from Ireland right away.

In March, I booked a roundtrip flight to Northern Ireland. I did not get my visa in the mail until the night before I left. So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my visa actually allowed me to stay in Northern Ireland longer than my DTS would last. When I arrived on my DTS, I learned that none of the other trainees had booked a roundtrip ticket, because none of them were sure how long they would stay afterward. I learned from my Bible college semester abroad in York, England several years ago that leaving right away could very well mean missing out on "firsts" and adventures with classmates. Also, DTS proved very fast-paced, which didn't leave much time or energy for sightseeing or exploring beyond the immediate area around the YWAM base. So I quickly decided that pushing my flight back an extra week or two would probably be a good idea.

So here's what happened after we got back from Outreach in Czech Republic:

Debriefing Week

We arrived back from Outreach through Dublin airport (Republic of Ireland), where staff picked us up and drove us back to the YWAM base in Rostrevor (Northern Ireland). We were tired, we were theoretically bedbug-free, and half our stuff was in stored a closet at the base. I was ecstatic to see misty rain first step out of the airport, but the others (unsurprisingly) lacked my rainy enthusiasm. We had the weekend to catch up on sleep, do laundry, and collect ourselves, before we started in on Debriefing Week.

Our first debrief was about what happened during Lecture Phase, and our second debrief was about Outreach Phase. We were given packets to complete to evaluate Outreach Phase and our DTS staff, were informed that our DTS staff and base staff would be evaluating us as well. After all the evaluations were complete, we met with one of the base staff to explain our evaluations and go over our results.

The second half of Debriefing Week had more to do with what would come next. We were warned of what to expect when we went home: what would be different, what people would probably ask us and expect of us, and how developing and facilitating Christian community would be more difficult than in our DTS bubble. We were also informed of YWAM opportunities that were now open to us, since we had successfully completed a DTS, and a sample support budget was laid out to us for those of us who might want to return to come on staff.

Those were all lecture-ish things. In addition, we resumed our base chores for the week, and we ran Harbour (the Monday night service on-base). Harbour was a chance for us to fill in the base and the Rostrevor community that had been praying for us, about what God had done during our Outreach. We each ran something different (i.e. worship, words on the screen, slideshow, MCing, etc.), and we each shared a personal testimony about what God had shown us on the trip. We had limited time, so we had to keep it brief. It was such a contrast from the first time we had done Harbour, right before we left for Outreach. Our attitudes were so much better, our hearts so much less rebellious, and we took everything in stride. It proved to us how much Outreach had truly changed our group dynamic.

Harbour was geared more toward encouraging those in Rostrevor, but there were prayer/worship sessions that were geared more toward us. In these sessions, we shared with the base staff about what we thought we would be doing next, and they prayed for us. Two of the five of us had already expressed their desire to come on staff before we even left for Outreach, but the other three of us were a little less sure. The two girls from Northern Ireland wanted to be connected to the base, but not a live-in part of it. One of them is getting married in December. The other is planning to finish beauty/massage school. But I think I speak for almost all of us when I say YWAM left us more and less sure of what we want to do than we thought. We came out more certain of our identity in Christ, more aware of other denominations, and more solid in our God-oriented perspective of where we are in the world. But as for what would immediately come next, and how much like our DTS mentality that would look, we were all a little hazy. Some of us just didn't notice how hazy until we got home.

On evening of Thursday of Debriefing Week, we dressed up all fancy and walked into our graduation. A long table was prepared for us in front of the stage like the bridal table at a wedding feast. My name card was in the middle of the table...which made me wonder whether I was supposed to be the bride or the groom, since there was a girl seated on either side of me. ;) We sang a song for our audience that we had sung with the kids on Outreach, and we watched a slideshow of our DTS. We also made double-sided signs to show what we were like before and after DTS, representing all the changes we went through during that time. And then we each were called up to receive our certificate.

Post-DTS Travels: The Northwest Coast of Ireland

As it happened, every one of us trainees stayed in the north of Ireland for the next week, but not all together. Lauren and Linda returned home to Banbridge, and eventually Nash and Malari joined Lauren.

I, on the other hand, chose to tag along with two of the base staff to visit some missionaries scattered along the northwest coast of Ireland. The region we visited, which is technically the Republic of Ireland, was very rural. On the outskirts or Ireland, traditional Irish culture is very much alive. Towns are small, many people raise sheep or cattle to make a living, being Catholic is an ethnic identity, and druidic practices and superstitions are just beneath the surface. In addition, the spiritual climate of the region is discouragement, depression, the inability to escape, and the sense of being forgotten by the rest of the world. The locals are extremely suspicious of outsiders looking to fit in, making missionary work exceptionally difficult and wearisome.

  

The first night we stayed with a couple YWAMers in Sligo, and the rest of the time we stayed with a couple running a retreat centre out of their home in Ballycastle. We also spent time with another YWAMer in Sligo, a minister in Ballina, and a psychiatrist visiting from Dublin. The missionaries informed us ahead of time that, because of the spiritual atmosphere of the region, what they really needed from us was not so much physical help as it was encouragement. They needed to know that they were not alone, that there were people who cared about them. They needed other Christians just to hang out with them, to talk with them, to eat with them. It was a huge reversal from the expectations of DTS Outreach. And I admit, I floundered a bit, not knowing how to meet the new expectations, unsure whether I was required to do anything. So I'm not sure how much help I was. But what I took away from that time were the stories--stories of spiritual battles with people placing curses on others, stories of the joys and challenges of ministering both abroad and in Ireland. These people sitting in front of me weren't just laypeople who rolled over when somebody asked them to step into ministry; these people were veterans of spiritual battle and had actively engaged the mission field in a variety of different settings. Yet here, they seemed to think the hardest, in a very different way.

Our time on the northwest coast wasn't all talk. We poked around the outskirts of the Céide Fields, an ancient farming community site which appears somewhat flattened now. Straight across the road from that was a lookout toward Downpatrick Head. On the way to our destination, we stopped by Saint Patrick's Well in Belcoo to refill our water bottles with fresh spring water, and on the way back we stopped to stretch our legs at Glencar Waterfall, and stare at the sheep grazing nearby.

Post-DTS Travels: Dublin, Republic of Ireland

Dublin was my last stop before flying home. I spent a week there, visiting Phil and Cheryl Kingsley. One of my first days, the Kingsleys took me to see Powerscourt and Malahide Castle--two famous tourist sites within reasonable driving distance. By the time we made it to the castle, the doors were closed, and even the gift shop was closing up, so we just took some classic pictures in front of the castle door. But I wasn't too sad, because our tardiness was likely due to my enthrallment with Powerscourt. In terms of history, visiting the Powerscourt estate is much like visiting a southern plantation: You appreciate the ornate beauty knowing that the average person did not enjoy such luxuries, which may have caused workers to resent those who did. But knowing that the average person could never afford to live in such a way is almost what makes it so attractive. It makes it like a dream.

  

The Kingsleys live on the outskirts of Dublin, but I did spend some time in Dublin itself. I wandered around Trinity College, and I paced through most of the National Museum of Archaeology. I also had lunch with the sister of an old childhood friend--which is funny, because neither of us ever dreamed the other would end up in Ireland, let alone at the same time and place.

Flying Home

God granted me a lot of grace coming back to Ireland from Outreach Phase. I experienced reverse culture shock then. I loved Czech Republic, in a way I did not expect, but Ireland is a much warmer culture; it is more hospitable, because it is more focused on people and long-term relational ties. Czech Republic was, in some ways, much closer to American culture: efficiency-oriented, and keeping ones business to oneself. After that, Ireland was startling. Of my 4 weeks in Ireland after Outreach Phase, two weeks of those were spent on the YWAM base (which is a culture unto itself), and the other two weeks were not enough for me to acclimate (largely because I still needed a lot of downtime to process).

Leaving the base to take the bus by myself to Dublin was a new experience, but after riding public transportation regularly in Prague it did not seem so large a feat. Even riding the Dart into Dublin and walking around the city by myself was fine. But the bus ride from Dublin to Belfast Airport was different. I got up at 4am to catch my bus at the airport at 5:20am. The first bus took me into Belfast, and that was fine. It was the bus from Belfast city to the Belfast International Airport that was a roller coaster ride for my emotions. The fear of leaving Ireland, which God had so graciously suspended when I went on Outreach, came filtering back in, and soon I was fighting within myself not to jump off the bus--even when it was in the middle of nowhere. The farther east we went, the more pull I felt toward Derry/Londonderry; the closer we drew to the airport, the more desperate I grew to stay on this isle. I had to remind myself over and over again that my visa was running out--that I had to leave in order to be able to come back. It was little consolation, but it kept me on the bus.

Flying with United Airlines was my first semblance of American culture shock, and landing in Newark, NJ was my second. As I ate my lunch in the terminal, I tried to block out the two loud men near me--one on his phone, one talking to his friend--who were complaining about things not going their way, for all to hear. It's not even like they were the loud teenage American tourists that most of Europe found annoying; these were grown men, with "stable" lives, living the "American dream." Being forced to listen to them made me not even want to eat. I could only hope returning to Northern California would not make me feel the same.

Thankfully, it didn't. My church body was warm and welcoming, and surprised me with questions of when I would go back to Ireland. They wanted to hear all about my trip. They accepted it as part of my life, and part of my future, not just a temporary trip.

I settled down well enough in my parents' extra room. But I settled in adaptation mode, knowing all my stuff was in storage and everything I sustained myself with before was gone. I didn't realize God wasn't done transforming me yet on the inside, where no one else could see the struggle.