For those who have been asking,
I know it’s been a while since I’ve told a story of something that happened in Africa.
I always said I would be a storyteller.
I always said I would tell of all the injustices that I witness.
But the truth is…
It’s hard for me to think about some of the things I’ve seen.
Let alone tell about them.
Not only here, but all over the world.
How do I tell the story of a 15 year old named Gladys
who had 3 children and was pregnant with her fourth?
How do I tell the story of a beautiful Thai girl named Pat
who wanted desperately to be with her son, but couldn’t because
she had to sell her body in the bars to make money for her family up north?
How do I tell the story of a 3 month old orphan named Michael
who changed everything for me?
I have seen pain like you wouldn’t believe in the eyes of an orphan as he watched us leave.
I have seen more joy than my heart could hold in the eyes of an old grandma as she finally gave her life to Jesus.
I have seen pain and brokenness and death.
I have seen darkness that I don’t even know how to describe.
Maybe I just need some time at home to process,
but maybe a part of me doesn’t ever want to forget how my heart has been broken this past year and a half of my life.
Maybe I don’t want to forget the look in that orphans eyes,
or the grandma’s smile. Or the sound of Michael’s cooing.
Maybe I can’t forget them…
Forgive me for not telling more stories of my time in Africa.
I’ve seen a lot of things that were extremely beautiful.
but I’ve also seen a lot of things I don’t know how to talk about yet.
I just need some time.
But I promise I’ll write about them soon.
