the day we were us

One year ago we were on a plane, in the final minutes of our descent to Dulles Airport. It was the end of a sleepless 17-hour plane ride that took us over the Sahara, across the Mediterranean, paused for a brief refueling in Rome, and continued its trek above Europe and the Atlantic to bring us, at last, home. We raced through customs, waited in agony as our bags were located, and then rushed with weary bodies and full hearts to the international arrivals exit where our family was waiting.

I crushed my poor son in a hug that had been building for three weeks, and I remember his little body feeling impossibly big in my arms. Annabell, too, looked a year older, and I was struck again at how much can change in such a short span of time. 

And then I was watching Tim clinging for dear life to his oldest daughter and realizing, "We made it. We're together. It's over."

Oh, the relief. I'll never forget it. Or the relaxation of driving on roads with lines, drinking that first post-trip glass of cold cow's milk, eating fresh produce without worrying about severe abdominal distress, walking into the public bathroom to find a toilet complete with seat and toilet paper rather than grip pads on the floor with a hole in between. 

So many luxuries to enjoy, yet there was also a sadness. Immediately, there was sadness and longing. I wanted to go back, even then. With our kids, of course. I couldn't stand the thought of ever being separated from them again. But even though our journey had just ended, I felt that somehow it had really just begun. Rwanda was in our hearts to stay. 

I don't know where those thoughts and feelings will lead down the road, but I do know that any path we take, we'll take together. Happy family day to us, McLennan party of 5.