I feel so conflicted because there is a part of me that can’t wait to see my family and enjoy the comforts of home. And then a part of me wonders if after what I’ve experienced, if I ever again will be comfortable with my “comforts”. Will I ever be able to get the image out of my mind, of the orphans waving good-bye as we drove away. Will the pain I feel in my heart dull over time when I am once again distracted by life? When it rains will I think of the rain barrels being filled? When I do wash will I always picture those sweet girls at the orphanage bent over washing their clothes, singing nonetheless. Will days begin to go by that I don’t think about the beautiful girl with the shy smile that didn’t even know “how” to hug? My worst fear is that my “comforts” will dull what I saw in Africa. Just as I never want to forget the life Jesus rescued me from, I never want to forget having my heart broken by so many desperate needs. Needs I know nothing about. I hope someday soon I can take my family to Kenya. I pray that God will somehow allow this financially. I don’t want my children to be 40 to realize just how blessed we are. How every day we need to have heart full of gratefulness. Not just of the sake of being thankful, but to search out why God would choose to bless me to live in America. How am I supposed to use this blessing? I will never be the same, nor do I want to be.
…a part of me wonders if after what I’ve experienced, if I ever again will be comfortable with my “comforts.”
