When I was little, I used to move houses a lot.
And every time we would move,
on that last morning,
after everything was packed,
in my room that had been my shelter for however many years,
I would sit in the middle of the room and tell it goodbye.
I'd walk along each wall, run my fingers along the plaster, the holes where my things had hung, and think about all the big life things that happened while I lived there.
This happened quite a few times as I grew up, and I couldn't be more grateful for the detached spirit all those moves gave me.
Sometimes the detachment is a curse.
But in this case, I am eager to sit in that little room in Gulu, Uganda, and begin a new conversation, one that I never in a million years thought I'd be having.
There are 36 days left till I hop on that plane to Gulu! Feeling a mix of thrill, but then moments of reality hit. I am increasingly experiencing a loss for words. I guess I don't have much to say these days, just soaking in everything I can.
I didn't even realize this, but five years ago, I was told about the war in Uganda, about Kony, and the thousands of child soldiers in Uganda.
Five years ago, the Zion Project was formed.
He knew what He was doing. All along, I had no foresight for what He was creating in my heart, and in Uganda, and how one day, in 2011, we'd finally get to meet for good.
I will be talking about Zion Project and my story next Thursday, December 8th, and I'd love for you to come! Just leave a comment on this post for more details, and I'll take it from there.
Just a little Wednesday evening happy for ya'...