This never gets old, this feeling of anticipation and of new
beginnings. As I prepare to go back to India next week, I sit and I wonder
about the people I will meet, about the children I will love, and about how I
will change as a result. This time though, is somehow different from the ones
before. I do something I haven’t done in the past; I look ahead to my return
and wonder if I am ready for it. I feel as though I am just starting to make
sense of this place I call home after returning from Uganda months ago.
I was grocery shopping a while back and as I was standing in
line I looked ahead to the man in front of me. His haircut, build, and the
nature of his tattoos all relayed the fact that he was military. As he moved
ahead I noticed a prosthetic limb that started at his knee. And I wondered if
he had lost his leg in combat. As I met his gaze I saw a stone cold
expressionless face. I have seen this face before. In Northern Uganda, and in
Rwanda. I saw young boys wearing that very same face there. And it was just as haunting. As I offered a
smile to this young man in front of me, I received only the glance of that
stone face in return. I wonder at the nightmares he lives with. I wonder what
he thinks as he walks through the grocery store and listens to people complain
about silly things. I wonder if he wants to stand on top of the shelves and
shout at everyone. Tell them they have no idea what kind of horrors he has seen
in this world. I wonder this, because it was not so long ago that I wanted to
do that very thing. Stand elevated and tell people that there are toddlers with
bellies distended from hunger lying on the red dirt floor of an African hut.
That I saw a little girl with her eyes blinded by acid, standing on the street
corner in India begging. All this as the adult beside her pushed her in the
direction of any approaching foreigner. Perhaps he was the one that had blinded
her for this very purpose. All of this,
all of these break my heart, and I want to ask people if they really even
care. I don’t pretend to understand what
that soldier I saw struggles with, I’m not even sure I want to. But I hope that someday he is able to come to
terms with it. But what I do perhaps share with him, is the unsettling
realization that home no longer fits. Like trying to fit a square peg into a
round hole, somewhere there is a disconnect. And as I prepare to leave, this
time I realize that as I am just starting to wade out of the depths of the
disorientation that is re-entry, I’m going to be throwing myself right back in.
Despite all this, I look forward with eager anticipation to
meeting the kids at the children’s home I’ll be at. Check them out here. I know
I’ll come home with a palpable ache, missing them in ways that only a few
understand. My inability to build walls around my heart means I acutely feel
everything. But even if I knew how to put up emotional barriers, why would I
want to shut these people out, only so that it might save me from that ache
upon my return. No, I will go and give
them all of me, I know that.
I also look forward to the project I’ll be doing with
Engineering Ministries International.
Check out the project description here. Somehow these teams are always
assembled of quality people that have huge hearts for the work we are doing.
People that understand why I would rather go live in the dust with no
electricity instead of using my vacation to sit on a beach. These people speak my heart language. There
is so much to look forward to. Thanks
for your prayers.
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As I was about to get into the car to leave, Vineeta said "Auntie, I just ask you one thing. Please don't forget my name." I think of her often.
