here are some thoughts from the beginning:
it looks like a quilt, I mumble to him. He's Dutch, each word lilted with an edge and a flip of his tongue against the sides of his teeth. It makes my American accent sound so... boring. so plain.
I already feel far from home. The drama. The questions. The eyes that search my every move and doubt my sincerity. Fear my authenticity.
It's good to get away.
And this man next to me, in his wrinkled khakis and blue button up, reminds me that I'm far, far, far from the place I call home.
I think of Africa. I wonder what it will smell like, what will my heart do when I step onto the soil and mix my toes into the red earth, thick with pain and dry with yearning. My impatience for morning coffee seems offensive when someone mentions how the Ugandans are praying for rain. How they need water to drink. Effortlessly, we drink. We live. We play. Without much work we reap. Without sweat we enjoy the fruit of labor. As if we owe nothing. Earn nothing. Are in debt to no one.
"There's rain in the forecast," he says, thumbing through his iPhone and I sip languidly from my ice cold Diet Coke. Are we this far removed from the rest of the world?
Europe is ugly too. This is something I note as we fly in. Junkyards hidden behind tall pines and hedgerows. Backyards unkempt, stuffed behind cottages and red-roofed homes. I don't know why I imagined the Europeans not being dirty at all.
Tiny prayers choke me, sneaking out my lips over clouds and in strolls around the airport.
jesus be with me.
jesus make me worth something.
abba i belong to you
please don't let me live my life in vain
Things I fear, wonder, hope, doubt. sometimes this is all my prayer life consists of. These tiny moments of words tumbling out of heart, hitting pavement and echoing back into the silence.
Wow, Andrea. I can't wait to read more (and hopefully hear!) of what God did on this trip. And this is just the beginning!
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