I am slowly coming to realize the weight of how different my heart will look after this trip.
I’ve left pieces of me all over these countries, stowed them with people, with revelations in moments and dumbfounding views.
There’s a piece of me in a girls home in Bolivia. Her name is Leidi, she’s 9 years old and at her core she is the embodiment of peace. I haven’t really wanted to have kids of my own until I met her. She made me want to settle down, buy a house and drive her to school every morning. There was something in my soul that made me feel like she was mine. A deep connection that was communicated through play, snuggles and comfort. She reminded me of the tangible love of the Father.
I left my heart in the safe hands of two incredible squad leaders. Jen + Han poured their lives out into every single one of us. I am so thankful that the Father entrusted these two women with all of us wild chickens.
There’s a couple in Colombia that feel like home. Not just for me, but for the children of an entire city. They invite you in and give you the space to stay, their love feels like a well worn sweater.
There’s a part of me with a sweet Cuban dad in Bolivia. He embodies the father’s heart for all who enter into his space. He carries an intoxicating freedom and encourages others to do the same.
This wouldn’t be transparent if I didn’t include the thousands of dogs I’ve met and sang to.
I felt my heart stay in a bus ride from Banos to Quito, as I stared out the window and cried while listening to Dancing Queen on repeat. I was the only passenger that wasn’t asleep, marveling at the beauty of the lush, giant green hills stacked on top of each other, the crispness of the air, feeling the beat from the tambourine in the depths of my soul and thinking about how much I adore my mother.
It’s so painful to leave. Every time we do I think of the verse in Romans that elaborates on the inward groans of the soul. The ones that are inexplicable to man but fully understood by the Father. I think about how much I resonate with this and how hard it is to put words to the feeling of thankfulness and loss slamming together. Thinking, “Why did I do this to myself?” and having the next thought interrupt the first by saying, “How could you not?”. The riptide of Joy, the crash of time passing too quickly, and the ache from willingly tearing a piece of your heart out and leaving it where you once stood. It hurts like hell and I’m so thankful that it does.
I’m leaving South America with a patchwork heart. Leaving myself, taking others with me and marveling at how incredible the Father is with a needle and thread.
5 down, 6 to go.
