I decide I need to scroll back through my blog...
As I scroll through, I catch key words... quick memories, jolting back to me in vivid color.
It has been 6 months... pushing on 7, since my adventures in Africa, but it is still so sharp in my mind.
I am reading and feel my heart lurch and turn. Africa is SO far away.
This trip has a completely different purpose than the last.
Widows and orphans...
HIV/Aids....
Hunger...
Hopelessness...
Desperation...
There are security threats. People trying to blow up planes.
The slums are not known for their safety or lush and lavish accommodations.
2-3 weeks away from my children... my husband, with little, or no contact.
Sickness, disease... death.
It is not ideal.
But this is why my heart lurches and turns. Violently.
It is why I cannot read my own blog, or write it, without tears, bubbling up... fogging my vision.
I don't particularly like being emotional. I don't consider myself weepy, or a sop. It just kinda spills out. It is not to be controlled, pushed back... shoved down into the recesses of my stubborn attempt at "being strong".
I am afraid. I HATE fear, but it finds me. Follows me around, waiting to enter through the cracks and crevices of my weakness.
I push it, shove it, rebuke it. I argue with it, kill it, bury it and always, it finds a way to resurrect itself. I draw my sword, sure that THIS time, it will be dead and gone forever.
I AM fierce! I KNOW how to fight. But still... fear is relentless.
BUT....
Africa still calls my name. It still beckons me.
As fear tries to bully me, I submit to the realization that I am indeed a fighter.
Half way around the world, I am being summoned.... So, I make a decision to ignore fear... it is not my friend, so I am ignoring the messages that it keeps trying to leave. I have blocked it's number... it comes up as restricted.
So, I read my blog and my heart lurches.... people are dying....
