I just found a scrap of paper I wrote on after coming back from my mission trip to Russia.
"I cried in the car. But I have not cried since. It's like all of my emotions froze up. I laugh and tell everyone how my trip went. I tell the funny stories, and I talk about the things we did. But I haven't said anything about the kids. About the tears I cried and how hard it was to say goodbye. The way they laughed when we twirled them in circles, or the antics we used to get them to understand us without an interpreter. All the gesturing and pointing. Or the gifts that the sweet, quiet little boy gave us. He always had gifts. All these things, I say nothing. I say nothing because I feel nothing.
Nothing I could say could make them possibly understand how I feel. I could try. But . . . I've never been good at explaining, and my family doesn't talk about feelings. I want to go back, but they won't understand why unless I tell them everything. There are thousands of orphans in Russia. That is absolutely heartbreaking to me. I've seen their faces. I've heard their stories. These are real people. Real children. I can't do nothing. Anyone who has seen what I've seen and knows what I know couldn't just go back to normal life and just do nothing."
I've cried since then. I go on long walks and process everything, talking it out to myself. I still have shared very little of the deepest parts with anyone. I talked about my trip to my Sunday school class. But we just touched the surface.
Today, I cried. But not for the kids. No. I cried for missed opportunities, for wasting time, for foolish decisions. I cried because of all the hurt and emotions I felt on the trip resurfaced. Over and over again I process and reprocess the trip, what happened, how I feel. What do do.
Today, I got an email back from the organization that I contacted about an internship there. Today, I emailed them back. But I have not pressed send. Not yet. I waited impatiently for them to email me back. But now that they have, a trickle of fear slides down my insides. I feel nervous. I was so confident that God wanted me to return. Every day I thought of it. Every day I was convinced. I think... I'm still convinced. Just scared. Scared to spend an entire summer in a country I cannot speak the language of. Scared to be away from my family and from my two closest friends. Scared I will fail . . .
"I cried in the car. But I have not cried since. It's like all of my emotions froze up. I laugh and tell everyone how my trip went. I tell the funny stories, and I talk about the things we did. But I haven't said anything about the kids. About the tears I cried and how hard it was to say goodbye. The way they laughed when we twirled them in circles, or the antics we used to get them to understand us without an interpreter. All the gesturing and pointing. Or the gifts that the sweet, quiet little boy gave us. He always had gifts. All these things, I say nothing. I say nothing because I feel nothing.
Nothing I could say could make them possibly understand how I feel. I could try. But . . . I've never been good at explaining, and my family doesn't talk about feelings. I want to go back, but they won't understand why unless I tell them everything. There are thousands of orphans in Russia. That is absolutely heartbreaking to me. I've seen their faces. I've heard their stories. These are real people. Real children. I can't do nothing. Anyone who has seen what I've seen and knows what I know couldn't just go back to normal life and just do nothing."
I've cried since then. I go on long walks and process everything, talking it out to myself. I still have shared very little of the deepest parts with anyone. I talked about my trip to my Sunday school class. But we just touched the surface.
Today, I cried. But not for the kids. No. I cried for missed opportunities, for wasting time, for foolish decisions. I cried because of all the hurt and emotions I felt on the trip resurfaced. Over and over again I process and reprocess the trip, what happened, how I feel. What do do.
Today, I got an email back from the organization that I contacted about an internship there. Today, I emailed them back. But I have not pressed send. Not yet. I waited impatiently for them to email me back. But now that they have, a trickle of fear slides down my insides. I feel nervous. I was so confident that God wanted me to return. Every day I thought of it. Every day I was convinced. I think... I'm still convinced. Just scared. Scared to spend an entire summer in a country I cannot speak the language of. Scared to be away from my family and from my two closest friends. Scared I will fail . . .
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