I have been stingy with my stories.
Three weeks and one day ago, I said goodbye to a group of lovely women and men, packed my things, and left Atlanta after a completed World Race. I went home, visited as many people as possible (including 3 doctor’s offices), tried to sleep a little, and caught up on my long to do list.
And I did see people, but the more I saw, the more I realized that they knew so little of my past four months. And the beginning is always a difficult place to start.
Part of it has been about time. Between traveling the world, working with ministries, and accomplishing everyday life things, there really was little spare time. But maybe there was more to it.
There is something incredibly personal about our stories. Somehow they become exponentially precious when outside of our everyday context. Even the tiniest of tales seems to be full of emotions, implications and insight into my life. And that’s a lot to place into the hand of the random people who inevitably ask the question “how was your trip?”
I am trying to take that leap, though. I am trying to make the decision to tell people about the little things that made a profound impact on my life. I am trying to trust that I can place these stories into the hands of others and trust that they will hear my heart, not my words.
It has been a busy three weeks and one day.
