“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” -Terry Pratchett
These windows are different. When it rains here I can see the droplets, so small and perfectly formed. This is not home. This rain is so unlike the storms i am used to. This steady rain will always come if i am still and wait long enough. They use the t.v. in the kitchen as background noise, the only background noise i’ve ever wanted is the sound of my best friend playing the keys of a keyboard really. They leave for a few hours and I rush to switch it off at the wall. I have a migraine. Again. Pregnancy knocks this frame of mine about quite brutally, but i am never consumed. i know i don’t need to look for where to turn now. i have a Maker Who knows that i am but dust. i lift my eyes for a song. All I needed to sing were these words: ”Your Name is life. Your Name is hope inside me. Your Name is love, a love that always finds me. Always finds me. You can reach the depths of me. My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. On Christ the solid Rock i stand. My fear is conquered by His perfect love. My life is ransomed by His royal blood. If He can clothe the flowers, how much more, how much more does He hold you? I’ve been ushered into Your presence. And i fall face down…”
I allow myself to close my eyes for just a second to remember home. You tell me that anyone can be depressed if they allow themselves that luxury. You ask me what the best parts of being in England are. You implore me..there must be some. Neither of you understand what it is to be surrounded by a kind of familiar that is entirely not home. To be in a country you once lived in, without the pieces of your heart that establish you as whole. How can I be utterly alive when half of my flesh is walking around in Bugembe? How can I breathe fully when all four quarters of my heart are existing within Uganda? I don’t expect any of you to understand, but please I ask you…do not judge me for the pain.