This morning as we walked, the breeze that blew was warm. The sun was rising. The leaves fell from the trees like fat, green snowflakes and the branches rustled as their foliage fell gently to the ground. The girls ran around my legs and each other, pulling on their leashes for freedom to smell the new season coming in. We were alone.
Yesterday over lunch, a friend asked me what I left in Kenya. I paused and thought- what did I leave? Fear, I told her. Fear that I couldn’t do something like this. That’s great, she says, but that’s not what I mean. What did you leave for them? Oh. Um, well, besides some clothes and shoes and a freshly painted banister and new sky lights…I must have left them something. I think, I’m silent. What did I leave for those children, those missionaries, those people that I laughed with, prayed with, took pictures of and held in my hands and arms? Did I in fact leave them anything?
I think I left them my heart. I can’t seem to find it since I’ve been back.
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