18 Days Later

I feel like I woke up from a dream and moved too quickly.

Like reality is pushing out the memory to make more room.

But if I close my eyes, I'm back there.

On the compound walking down the dusty road surrounded by dark, serious faces.

Lying in bed, covered by a mosquito net, with windows open and ears full of the bark of hyenas and the frantic wheeze of donkeys and the repetitive chirp of invisible bugs.

Standing on the grassy airstrip, a small six-seater plane becoming visible underneath a settling cloud of dust. Hundreds of curious faces coming towards me - whispering words I couldn't understand. The bravest of them reaching out to touch my hand.

If I close my eyes, it's all there.

If I slow down, it rises to the surface again.

But everyday life, my regular routine, did not take its time in returning.

No mercy.

I cried myself to sleep.

Five-thirty this morning my alarm clock went off.

Eerily quiet, this sterilized world did not even rise to meet me.

And I was in the shower. Packing lunch. On the road by six-twenty.

Crying in the car as I abided by westernized traffic laws and paused in the glow of red lights.

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If I keep moving at this pace, I'm afraid I'll lose it.

How, I wonder, do I propel myself forward?

How do I strive for what is next without losing today?

How do I preserve what happened yesterday without wasting this minute, this day?

-

I feel like I blinked and it was over.

What once was a goal, a dream, a whisper, an instruction, is now a part of my past.

Part of my story.

What if I had ignored Him?

What if I had disregarded what my heart discerned?

If I had sat still - I would have missed it all.

-

I will be reaping for the rest of my life.

Today, there is no way to see the extent of impact this trip has had on who I am.

On my character and the course of my life.

To try and grasp it would be impossible.

But I remain astounded at His faithfulness.

And cling to the truth about His strength -

having learned that how I strong I am is not what matters.

But in surrender, I empty myself and become a vessel.

A conduit, a catalyst, an instrument.

For Him to express His strength and might.

Which is endless.

-

Now on the other side of the world, the sun is beginning to rise over the mountains and the roosters are crowing.

God is there.

Moving in windstorms and doves and women in scarlet headscarves.

But God is here too.

He hears me here, in this apartment, just like He heard me in East Africa.

And if I continue to allow Him, He will continue to move.

To stir.

To awaken.

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My prayer is that what happened over the last eighteen days, however, would not become a forgotten dream.

That I would not replace those precious memories with busy life.

And that in routine, I would not forget His call.

"My heart has heard you say, 'Come and talk with me.' And my heart responds, 'Lord, I am coming'." (psalm 27:8)