“How the hell does a broken heart get together when it’s torn apart and teach itself to start beating again?”
-Christina Perri
I’m going to tell you a story.
A love story.
But not your average love story.
This story begins with a girl. Texas born and raised to her core, but too proud to admit it. A girl who craved adventure. A girl who wanted freedom from the mundane routine of life. She loved the Lord with all her heart, but kept everyone else at arms length so as not to be hurt; for she was already wounded from losing loved ones closest to her.
So there she was, always the heartbreaker and never the heartbreakee.
She always gave fair warning, however, to those brave enough to attempt to pursue such a girl. And in the end of all two of those relationships, her warnings proved true.
This time however, the tables turned.
As this girl went out and followed her dreams and Gods calling share the gospel with people around the world, she didn’t expect to fall in love.
This dream of hers even held the promise of not staying in a place long enough to get bored or get too close to people.
She actually went into this country without expectations, the way she was given advice to do. She knew nothing about this country or these people other than the fact that her teams mission was to hope for them. Hope that they would see the love of Christ even if she couldn’t speak it. When she got there she was honestly a little disappointed. Disappointed that she was stuck in a sleepy little town that did the same thing day in and day out. She imagined that month to look like Belle from Beauty and the Beast, walking the streets everyday and having nothing change. She even found a little library the first day there!
For the first couple of weeks it was just that, a little town with the same people. Going out and praying for the city with her team while walking the same streets over and over. Eating at the same restaurants. Talking to the same people.
But something funny happens when you tap into the power of prayer. You think that prayer changes the circumstances when most of the time, prayer just changes you.
Then things really got going.
She found out that the owners of the hostel weren’t in fact Laos, but were actually Vietnamese! In her incredibly broken vietnamese she began to get to know the family. Not only did the family own three hostels, but each member of the family had their role in running it too. Grandma and grandpa of course the investors while running one of the hostels, Dad the run between and overseer of all things, Mom manager of one/Laundromat/mother of two/maker of breakfast, brother the assistant breakfast maker/handy man/understander of most English but never spoke it back, and of course the two kiddies. 3 and 1 1/2 year olds who captured everyone’s hearts and had everyone tied around their little fingers.
What became just familiar faces around the hostel quickly became family as they made us breakfast every morning and helped her polish her vietnamese skills at night.
But the shift didn’t stop there.
An opportunity arose to teach. And oh how she loved to teach. Nothing gave her greater joy than showing students that they are capable of more than they believe and putting value in education by making learning fun. Her usual scene of teaching kiddos ages 5 and 6 from back in the states shifted to college students in their first semester of English class. The games she brought however, stayed the same.
As she broadened the horizon of what a classroom should look like, barriers between the students and teachers broke down and bonded them with fun.
Little did she know or would ever know what that would mean to the students.
After teaching a few of the same classes, she and her team were invited by her new beloved students to watch their football tournament on a Saturday morning.
Giddy with excitement to not only get to watch a live sports game for the first time in a while, but also to cheer for her students, she hopped on the back of one of the students mopeds and was whisked away to the field across a bridge she had yet to go past.
In a quite exciting game her students won! To celebrate, the students took them to a local restaurant where they not only basked in their victory and camaraderie, but also practiced their English!
Those shifts may not have seemed like much to anyone reading, but to her, she was in love. And she didn’t even know it.
Because as author John Green puts it, she fell in love, “slowly, but then all at once.”
She still didn’t know it though. Not until the very end.
Her last two weeks in Laos were spent teaching the students, and getting to know the hostel family more and more. Her heart became more and more full as she participated in activities exclusive from other tourist. She and her team went on a family outing to a village to go fishing and enjoy a meal together. Some of the team who taught English were invited to go out with the students again and have a good time. The students were incredibly protective of their teachers, always making sure they had safe rides to and from the restaurant, festival, Lao version of House of Blues, and football field as well as not allowing strangers to talk to them either. This sort of security reminded her of her brothers back home who always looked out for her that she missed dearly, but was thankful to have a sweet reminder of.
With each day she grew more and more fond of this little town that she once was disappointed by. And as the time approached to pack up and move on she realized more and more how much she would miss every bit of the same people, the same streets, and same activities.
Her last day was filled with a sweet last meal with the family, and last football game with the students.
One of the students had even written a note about how much he appreciated her taking the time to teach them and how her lessons brought them ‘freedom’.
And that’s when she knew.
The pain the struck her as she read the farewell note revealed to her that she was in love.
In love with the students.
In love with the family.
And in love with a small town where everybody knew everybody.
And then she had to leave.
Like a scene from a bad break up in a movie, it came too quickly. Unexpectedly.
There were no words left to be said. Nothing she could do.
She had to leave.
And the town would move on just like it did before she came.
Without chocolate to comfort her, she left misty eyed in a Tuk Tuk as it rode down familiar streets.
No more baguettes toasted with love for breakfast.
No more students running to the board with markers.
No more people she had unknowingly get much closer than arms length.
She didn’t share her story with them.
She just loved them.
And that was enough. Enough to bond her to them.
Enough for her to feel for the first time that she was leaving a piece of her heart behind that would never be replaced.
Unlike the goodbyes to home before she left on this adventure, these goodbyes couldn’t promise her return.
Only God knows if she will get to see them again, and that truly broke her heart.
She didn’t know she was capable of falling in love the way she did. And for the first time, she was the one having her heart broken by someone else.
And that hurt.
So for now, it’s too soon to talk about the memories.
It’s too soon to look at pictures.
It’s too soon to do anything that reminds her of that little town and the piece of her heart that she left behind.
It was too soon to leave.
One day, for the first time, she silently promised herself- one day she would return.
“Half of my hearts got a grip on the situation, half of my heart needs time.”
-John Mayer
———————————————
If you would like to support this broken hearted but starry eyed dreamer click ‘Support Me’ at the top!
Through one time or monthly donations you can help meet the deadline of March 1st! Only $4600 left to go!
All donations are tax-deductible.
