A year ago today, I left. Somehow I managed to pack my bags - five years worth of memories all stuffed into three suitcases. And by the grace of God, I actually got on the airplane to make the one way trek back to the States.
As I relive a memory from my last night, the pain is fresh - almost as if I am enveloped into this moment all over again. I am stuffing my computer, books and journal into my worn, leather bag. The last bag, the last of all my things to come with me, the last to-do on my moving checklist. Suddenly, the weight of it all hits me and for a second I can't breath. The tears come soon after: strong, big, heavy. I look to my co-worker turned friend turned family and through the sobs manage to put into words the aching of my heart: "I don't know how I'm going to get on the plane." I crumble into her arms, along with all my fear and sadness and uncertainty and doubt.
It's hard to put into words what it feels like to leave a place that ripped you apart and sewed you back together all at the same time. What it feels like to come back to something that is supposed to be familiar yet instead seems foreign and strange. What it feels like to know that I'll never sit in that worn, teal chair listening to the chirping birds while drinking my morning coffee. What it feels like to say goodbye to people who challenged me, laughed with me (and at me), pushed me and loved me fiercely.
That's why I haven't been writing as much, I realize. The emotions are too raw, the feelings too big to be bound by black ink on white paper. As I glance over this blog, this little space I created to give my heart room to breathe, I see so many unfinished, abandoned drafts - all hidden from the public eye. They begin with sentences and paragraphs that trail off into nothingness. As if I just suddenly couldn't finish. It was all too much - paralyzing and exhausting and scary all at the same time.
But now - a year removed from that tearful night - there is a certain lightness to my step. There is a bit of stability, a tender feeling of normalcy that is poking its head up through the chaotically beautiful mess my life has been for the past year. I feel more myself than I have in a long time. I feel steady and real and calm. No longer nomadic or running on adrenaline or undergoing significant life change. Just simple old me.
Oh Nicaragua, you will never know how my heart aches for all that I left behind.
But Jesus, You know exactly how my heart longs for all that is to come.
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