For When I {still} Don't Have the Words

 In my post last week, I mentioned still not having the words to say. How am I supposed to put a trip like our Ethiopia trip into words? Where do I even start? I was beginning to experience frustration over this incapability to find the words. Words that accurately relate my experiences in a poverty-stricken country back to middle-class America.

 I would sit here and think about the fact that the backpack I'd set down on the floor of my sponsor sister's one-room house contained more money than her entire house cost to rent for a month. My seemingly small amount of spending money was more than her family makes in a month.

 And then today, some song came on {I don't even remember what song it was- go figure.} that spoke of this. Even before time began, THE Word was. In the beginning, all things were created through The Word that was with God. As I spent ten days chasing the heart of God halfway across the world, The Word was life and light in the darkness. The Word was God. And for the two months I've spent searching for words, The Word was already there, woven into every story bottled up in my heart.

Living Radical

 Yesterday, August 18th, marked two months since I left for a journey that changed my life. That "changed my life" part is hardly what I want to say, because I feel like everyone says that. It barely does anything justice. But the truth is even two months after, I'm still not sure sure how to put it all into words.

 At times it's hard to believe I've been home that long. It's hard to believe because I feel like I never quite left Ethiopia. I left my heart in that country and most days the beautiful people hold a cherished spot in the back of my mind. Some days though, the memories roar to the front and I pull out notes from my Ethiopian sisters, I look at pictures of my little brothers, and I long so much to be back with them.