One year ago today...

My contemplative (and exhausted) self shortly after 

touching down in Rwanda a year ago today. 

"Oh, the places you'll go..."

I wasn’t planning to write a blog post today (not surprising, since I’ve been completely MIA from the bloggy world for many months), but I know if I don’t I’m going to regret it later on. How many times as my kids have grown have I said to myself, “Ooh, I need to write that down so I don’t forget!” and I never do? I'm glad I listened to that little voice last May 2 as well, and wrote this.

The truth is, I didn’t think I’d feel much today. I was even a little worried I’d forget the significance of this date, the anniversary of our arrival in Rwanda. Man, was I wrong. The emotions slammed me today before I even got out of bed. Every hour or so I find myself calculating the time difference between here and Rwanda and reminiscing about what was happening one year ago from this exact moment. (Right now, for instance, we were in the early stages of our 3-hour wait for pizza at Sole Luna, a restaurant down the street from our hotel in Kigali. Since I was in hour 42 of sleep deprivation and had spent most of the afternoon crying, this portion of the day is a little hazy, but I’m still clinging to it.)

I don’t have the energy or time to do a whole lot of soul searching now, but I need to get this down because it’ll surely turn out to be therapeutic later on. Here’s how I feel today:

1. I want to go back so bad I can taste it. Not being able to relive every second of our time in Rwanda (even the horrible parts) is breaking my heart. And if you know anything about how hard our trip really was, you get why this is sensation is so surprising to me.

2. The desire to be in Rwanda right now is ripping me apart. Forget going back and doing it all again. I just want to be there, smelling the flowers and petrol, feeling the heat of the African sun, hearing rapid conversations in a language I don’t understand but love anyway, and staring at that impossibly gorgeous sky with clouds that seem somehow more 3D than ours.

3. I want to start over. As I recall the hopes and expectations of a year ago, knowing now that almost every one of them would be crushed, I wish I could pass these 20/20 hindsight lenses back to my May 2, 2011 self. I’d tell myself to slow down, take a breath, look at the big picture, and lean on my friends instead of trying to bottle it all up. I’d cry (more) in front of my travel group. I’d accept their compassion instead of brushing past it. I’d spend whatever it cost to find a way to phone my kids. I’d journal, take more pictures, and get out of my own head so I could focus more on everyone else.

The last thing: I’d insist on going to the orphanage, no matter how much it hurt. On Day 1, I’d be there, loving on all those precious kids who will never belong to anyone but God.

Longing and regret. If there’s a way to sum it up, that’s it.