My new normal is hard.
I’m not going to lie.
It would be so easy to back my bags and head home to comfort, where homesickness doesn’t make my heart ache. Where I don’t have to decide what is best for this orphan or this family or this sick child. It would be easy to pretend like I never came and go about life like any other person my age. Enroll in college, get a job, find the american dream.
But that’s not who I am.
That’s not who God created me to be.
In fact, that’s not how God created you to be either.
When you have seen the pain and the poverty and the hurt and the wickedness, to turn you back and walk away is to ignore Christ.
I will not ignore Christ.
I take a boda across the pot hole roads and pray for my safety along the way.
I arrive at a village of hope.
A village awaiting a future for their many children.
I arrive at a grass roofed church and am greeted by so beautiful people.
We hear their stories.
Many are the same.
They break me.
One tells us in embarrassment that his son only receives one meal a day because the crop is bad.
One who we’re told not to shake hands with because the skin diseases are bad in this poverty stricken area.
One who walks barefooted for drinking water that infects their body and they urinate blood.
One who has ring worm on their heads and malnourished bellies.
One who can’t write so they sign their name with a fingerprint.
One who digs a hole at such a young age and says he is ready to die, because the pain is too much.
And I know.
I can’t go back to what I used to think I knew about the world.
Because I really didn’t know a thing.