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I’m back.

And so thankful for the experience.

My heart is full but my mind is empty as I sit here with my laptop, trying to form words to describe it.

But how can you share a week in a paragraph? How can you convey the beauty of another culture in a simple post? How can you type emotions and faces?

So it rests in my heart for now. And it stirs every so often, reminding me it wasn’t a dream, that I’m not meant to come back to my little bubble and forget.

I was humbled by a people who have little and love much. Who sing loudly in church and smile when they’re fasting. Who fight for justice and work harder in a day than I have in my life.

I was inspired by a group of college students who laughed about air mattresses that sunk onto a hard gym floor and showers that were freezing. Who shared from their hearts each night and served from their hearts by day.

And I fell in love with little dark-eyed kids who fought to sit on your lap or hold your hand or share a secret.

The hardest part is coming home, figuring out how to bridge the gap.

But maybe I don’t have to figure anything out for now. Maybe I just need to remember two words.

Serve. Love.

Because I can do that here, too. The One who showed us how to love and to serve (John 13:14) can show us opportunities to do so every day.

Open my eyes, Lord. And open my hands.