A summer in Africa came and left.
A dream come true. I went to Africa. I did it. But somehow it feels like it never happened. It’s a strange to be sitting in Chicago writing, knowing that just a few weeks ago I was in Kenya eating Chapati, painting a church hall, attempting to speak Kikamba to a 100+ year old lady who lived in the mountains.
The days of summer itself are ending, waiting to be a blur.
My time in Kenya was selfishly precious. I grew and invested in my well being.
God did the big part: he healed me.
For years I’ve struggled with anxiety and overwhelming thoughts from my past that invaded my daily life.
Pain that woke up me at night. Fear of things that already had happened. Six weeks in Kenya was more than enough to heal years of damage.
So what now? What to do with a new heart?
I’m not sure. To be honest.
But i’m getting myself into good things.
Interning with the Marin Foundation.
Being more graceful.
I’m beginning a new era in my life.
A new adventure. And i’m so excited!