There is a Samford Hall shaped hole in my heart. It’s right next to the Costa Rica shaped hole, which takes up residence next to the Wesley Woods shaped hole, which lives right next to the one shaped like Trafalgar square, which sits next to the Sun Sphere hole. As the race approaches, I get these pains one by one…
Longings for places I call home.
Each distinct, and with different triggers…but painful nonetheless.
A sharp sting in the top left atrium, as if someone’s pinching a heartstring. The pain last only an instant but the memories that follow can loom for a day or more.
I am not a fence person, I’m all in or I’m all out. When I love a place, I love it fully. I embrace the culture, the food, the traditions, the language, our royal family… I cannot get enough. And if I’m not a fan, I make sure you know. Two words:: New. Orleans.
As I answer questions about the next year of my life, about the countries and the places, and the ministries and the people, there is an anticipated sadness that shadows. I will leave parts of my heart in eleven different places while on the race.
Which makes me wonder, will I have any heart left at all?
I struggle to comprehend how my already broken heart could be shattered even more. How each new place will hurt and heal in their own ways. What each country will give to me, and what I’ll leave behind.
…and that’s where I am today.
