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 after what I’ve experienced, if I ever again can 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 before they realize just how blessed we are. How every day we need to have a heart full of gratefulness. Not just for 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.