Taking Your Heart.

I've always had a hard time leaving places. Even just getting off the couch at a friend's house proves a hard chore.

As the days between "today" and leaving South Africa rapidly decreased I started feeling it. Feeling the sadness creep up like grass in cracks of cement. Pesky and unwanted. When the day finally arrived, I sat, packing my bags, in the very room where the trip began. The tile floor in front of the wardrobe covered in sudsy liquid, remnants of retaliation. The metal bunks strewn with clothes, trinkets and Emily's camera gear. My heavy heart hanging down to my cross legged knees, folding shirts and stuffing socks.

In walks Khaya, who has been wandering to and fro for the past hour or so, asking with his deep, smooth, rhythmic voice: "Sooo are you ready to go home?"
"No."
"What are you excited about for home?"
"I haven't even really been thinking about it. All I can think about is not wanting to leave here, my heart is here."

And then he said something very profound. Something that shaped the rest of the day for me and kept my cheeks much dryer than they would have been without these words. He got himself worked up, feverishly speaking:

"No. No you must go. And you must take your heart with you. You need to take your heart with you wherever you go."

He was right.
Those words brought me such comfort. I hardly even cried while saying goodbye at the airport because I was clinging to those words. You need to take your heart with you wherever you go.

And I still think he is right. We do need to, I need to, take my heart with me. It needs to be present, doing the work of loving people no matter where I am at. But my footing on those words became a little shaky once I found myself sitting in the Chicago airport. It certainly didn't feel like I had brought my heart with me. It felt most definitely like I was missing a few pieces, maybe even the whole thing. Despite the comfort and truth of his words I just don't know if it's possible for me to refrain from leaving little fragments of my heart everywhere I go. And that's going to create some problems eventually. Unless. Unless it is less like losing, and it's more like this...

The holes that are created by lopping off portions will heal, leaving a little raised scar. And maybe, instead of shrinking to nothing, layers and layers of scar tissue will just result in a heart with greater mass!

And the best part is that I'll have the blessing of sharing the story behind each scar. "This jagged scar is from leaving a bit of my heart with Liezel in South Africa. This curved one went to Dinneline-desiring to create a better story for herself." It means my heart might be lumpy and misshapen but it'll be like the best things in life. Like your favorite old sweatshirt or blanket. It will be all used up. Battered and spent in the best possible way.

And so Khaya, for what am I most excited about returning home? The stories I can share by pointing out the missing pieces of my heart. The stories of the people who are holding them. I can't wait to give my family love and encouragement from Jermaine. A man whose righteousness shines like the light of the dawn. To tell those who will hear about the passion and perseverance of Pastor Woody in Mannenberg. Priscilla and her twenty-five children. Claudie and Niecie at the big white church in George. The stories are countless, the pieces have been scattered.

Lord, thank you for giving me a soft heart that can be easily portioned out. Administer your healing so that I can truly take all of my heart with me. A heart full of healed scars and restored holes, full of stories, full of hope.