Where one story ends…another begins

A couple days after my arrival on American soil I was sitting at my niece’s softball game.  As the pee-wee level excitement came to a close, I debated whether or not I should use the restroom before we headed home…two thoughts immediately entered my head:

     1)  I wonder if it’s free
     2)  I wonder if there’s toilet paper

 I pondered for a moment and then smiled…

I quickly realized that I might be the happiest girl on earth…while even today the simplest luxuries bring me joy:

     1)  Hot showers
     2)  Bottomless drip coffee
     3)  Terrycloth towels
     4)  Comfortable bed
     5)  Putting on different/clean clothes each morning

It’s a strange transition, I mean of course I know how to maneuver American culture, I did it for thirty years after all, but my thoughts continually bounce back…to African villages…children’s faces…gypsy living…and radical faith.

Did it really happen?  Some days it feels like a dream.  But I look through the pictures…walk through my memories….and I’m gently reminded…they are real.  Real people…real situations…real life…real faith.

Finally in the privacy of the night…the struggle between this life…and that…won.  I felt it coming like the ocean tide…

Heartbreak for the two little pot-bellied girls in Uganda…who ate our leftovers each day.  I wonder…who feeds them now?

Heartbreak for the sick and dying throughout the remote regions of Africa and Asia…with no access to quality medical care.

Heartbreak for the lost…unaware of God’s love.

Heartbreak that it’s over…all the while knowing