It’s finished.

You can't be connected with God until you're at peace with who you are. –Rob Bell, SexGod

I am sitting out in my backyard—and I have been for the last 2 hours—reading, playing with the dogs, and really, just taking it all in. My backyard is small, but still comfortable, with room for Buddy and Georgio to run around, for various plants and trees to grow, and of course with room for our patio, complete with a grill for some serious BBQ. I can't help but chuckle as I glance at Buddy's dog house, out hottub, and my clean, cool glass of water—is this really my life?

I just spent over 4 months drinking water from sketchy sachets, opened by biting a corner and spitting the plastic out of your mouth. When I really felt like living big I would buy a liter of water in a bottle, usually from Voltic, and would spend the rest of the day justifying my purchase of a water bottle (1 cedi) instead of "pure water" (the sachets) for 5 pesewas.

Now, I can literally walk to our refrigerator, place my clean glass in the square outside the freezer door, push a button, and voila! Ice. Clean. Water. Unbelievable.

I expected the adjustment to be difficult. And, it is. More than difficult though, it's simply hard to reconcile.

After running around town yesterday doing errands—walmart, the phone store, the gym, starbuck's—I kind of feel like I am living a double life. These two worlds, West Africa and the United States of America, are just that drastically different.

I kept looking for tro tros on the road as I drove my own car for the first time in a long while.

I had a panic attack upon entering Wal-mart. I literally walked around for 10 minutes, unsure of what to think.

I gasped when I realized my Starbucks drink (venti iced chai latte with soy) was the equivalent of 6 cedis.

And, on top of everything else, an old high school friend who I ran into after doing bench presses at the gym, proceeded to ask,

"Ohh! Africa! I'm so jealous. Did you like, hang out with the tribes?"

I just stood there, with a blank look on my face, sweaty from a rigorous hockey workout, wondering if this was just the beginning to a long road of immersion back into America.

The good news is this.

Now, more than ever, I am connected with who I am. I am connected here. I am connected in Ghana. I am connected in Hendrix.

For the past few years, I have been soul-searching. I'm nowhere close to finished—hello, this is life, after all.

But sitting here, in the cool Rocky Mountain sun, I can't help but feel more comfortable in my skin than ever before previously—which I think says a lot, because I have often enjoyed being myself. I have this inner peace, this acceptance of me. I know my quirks, my problems, my shortcomings, my gifts, and my dreams. The good, the bad, the ugly. I don't feel like I have to prove myself. I am who I am, and I found a lot of that peace by moving half way around the world.

I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that even with this weird, confusing, hard, and stifling experience of coming home from Ghana, I feel able and ready to handle it. God's given me the gift of perception and perspective with my time in Ghana, and I can feel it.

I don't know how I got so blessed. I don't know how I got so lucky. It is overwhelming to believe that yes, Ghana, actually happened. And, it won't be easy being here after living for an extended amount of time in Africa. But, I suppose it really shouldn't be.

So, I am trying to embrace it, to find beauty in coming home, and to simultaneously share with others what I found in Ghana. People just don't know. But, maybe I can provide a little figment of knowledge and experience.

So, I will close my eyes and see the night market, Kissemahn, ISH, and the crazy streets of Accra, show my pictures, tell of the incredible people I met, and honor the beautiful journey I have just returned from.

With sharing, I can share a part of me. Who I am is irrevocably changed. So is my worldview. There is value in differences though—an opportunity to learn. To cope with being back in America that's what I will do.

I will teach and I will learn.

Because, certainly, coming home is a two-way street.