Better to have loved & lost than to never have loved at all.

And love will hold us together

Make us a shelter to weather the storm

And I'll be my brother's keeper

So the whole world will know that we're not alone.

This is the first day of the rest of your life.

--Matt Maher, "Hold Us Together"

I think I first heard this song driving the long stretch of highway into Denver one morning this summer. Which, is funny, as I was headed to The Gathering Place, and I once I heard, felt, and learnt (well, kind of…I have issues learning lyrics…) this song, I immediately thought of one place that this song reminded me of:

The Gathering Place.

It just had TGP written all over it. It's a shelter—but not just in the physical sense, but in an emotional and spiritual sense, too.

Love comes first. In every relationship.

Clients to staff.

Clients to clients.

Staff to staff.

Women to women.

The way people care for each other—it's unmistakably a family; we are all each other's keepers. And, most importantly, the women and children can fully realize they are not alone. They have a community. And this, along with resources for self-sufficiency, can help women allow this to be the first day of the rest of their lives. Hope is possible.

Fast forward to NOW.

It's August 12, 2010—the end of summer and the last day of my summer service fellowship.

I came home with a beautiful flower painted on my face (with lots of glitter of course) from our rooftop carnival.

I came home with tear-stained makeup from the bittersweet goodbyes.

I came home with enchilada leftovers (from my favorite family at TGP), a sheet cake that says, "Thank you Heather, we will miss you," and sweet letters to bid me well on my next journey.

I certainly came home full, especially from the surprise breakfast my friends brought in for me today. Yes, a full heart, and a full stomach too.

And, I came home, heard this song, and realized that again, it carries the spirit of The Gathering Place—only this time, I feel
these words. It's me, I'm the one who resonates with these words. I need them.

Love will hold us together

It's the only thing that ever has; it's the only thing that ever will. I heard "I love you" at least 20 times today. Denise told me, "We love you. We care about you. You give us faith in humanity, you give us reason to hope." All of my co-workers made an effort to share and give me love, and to show me love, not just today, but over the past two months. Just when you think you've seen someone give all the love they have—they give more. Sarah told me this goodbye would be one of the hardest. I feel the same way entirely. I've grown attached to this place; I've grown up in this place. And, as hard as it was to walk out onto the streets of Colfax from the building today, there is a special bond that was built that washed an overwhelming sense of reassurance in my heart. This is hardly goodbye—this love, it will bring us together again. The Gathering Place and me? Our paths, I know, will meet again.

Make us a shelter to weather the storm

These walls, these people, this community is for women and children in great need. It's a shelter, in its truest sense, and admittedly it's been one for me. Coming home from a life-changing, intense, and incredible semester in Ghana, I struggled adjusting. I still am. Somehow, in some crazy way, TGP was exactly what I needed—well before I even knew it. I needed to be immersed with kids. I needed to give love—and receive it right back. I needed a challenge, but I still needed a home. Sometimes, what you are looking for is right where you left it.

And I'll be my brother's keeper

I can't tell you how many times a beautiful child would embrace me, hug me, telling me of their life: their very own struggles, dreams, and realities. Yes, 4, 5, 6, and 10 year old children. For the kids that I developed a truly strong relationship with: Nika, Abrianna, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy, I made it quite clear. I will love you. Here, you are safe. I will listen, dance, sing, laugh—whatever you need. I'm here for you. And as days, months, and the summer passed, they did that for me too. I shared myself, I bared my soul, and that is forever a true mark of love; a true mark of trust.

So the whole world will know that we're not alone

You get a taste of perspective when you see bruises from abuse. When you see women who have all of their belongings on their back. When you see women with no place to go. When you see children who are hungry. And, so I may have had a heavy heart upon returning from Ghana, but I realized I am—nor have I ever been alone. God makes it like that, I believe. We have our struggles, our battles, and if we can come together, we can know we are not alone. Everyone is fighting something.

This is the first day of the rest of your life

I'm so sad this experience has ended. Sad, because my summer at The Gathering Place really did mean the world to me. It came into my life just when I needed it. I gave what I could, and I learnt with every step I took, and it was just right. But now, it's time to step forward, take these stories, take these lessons, and cherish the memories made. The old adage is true:

"Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

God, thank you, thank you.

I am so grateful for everything I lived and breathed this summer—reading stories, playing outside, the sandcastles, the beautiful drawings, the laughs, the sports, the moms, the kids, the friends I made, and the challenges that arose among difficult situations.

I said as I started this journey that I was at The Gathering Place to love, and to believe in love.

Without a doubt in my mind, I do.

Love always wins.

becoming that person

I get lost in the beauty of everything I see

The world ain't as half as bad as they paint it to be.

If all the sons and all the daughters stop to take it in

Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin.

Pain, poverty, thirst, hunger, longing, loneliness, homelessness, hurt, shattered dreams, and violence

fill the same streets, neighborhoods, homes, cities, states, villages, and countries as

hope, love, community, unity, dreams, goals, motivation, service, help, friendship, and family

in the same place that you will see hopelessness

you will find that one person who keeps smiling when their backs are against the wall

when God seems to be gone

when there is no reason to believe

they will.

It's hard to be that person.

It's hard to believe in this world anymore.

with all of this

war

unequal distribution of wealth

natural disasters

distrust

and every man for themselves attitude.

I have struggled to believe. I have felt hope leave. I have tested the edge of ambivalence. That's a risky road to walk, a scary place to go. It's easier. It's a lot easier, but the road of hopelessness goes

Nowhere.

So, with tragic news each night on TV, with every child that goes hungry, with every woman who is in a painful relationship, with each corrupt government official, with all of these destroyed families, and with my very own struggles, wrongdoings, and sins,

I will pray. Things will get better.

The world ain't half as bad as they paint it to be.

I can try and be that person that smiles and believes. I may try, and I may fail. But with God, I can have hope. And with hope, you have everything.

“I Like Fried Rice.”

It's funny how no matter where I've been in my life, it seems like I'm always missing somebody.

It's like life is a perpetual state of missing.

I don't think this is a bad thing. No, not at all. Who wouldn't want all of the people they love in the world with them, right when they need them, at the perfect moment?

What's important though is to understand what these relationships and people mean.

It's hard to face. Very very hard. Especially right now.

In Perks of Being a Wallflower, there is this quote,

"Maybe it's sad that these are now memories. And maybe it's not sad. And maybe it's just the fact that we loved, and this was the time we could spend."

I've been meditating about this, thinking about it, trying to capture the essence of what this actually means.

I miss Rukia.

It's been so hard. For whatever reason, the past couple of days, I haven't been able to get her off her mind. I close my eyes and I am back in Kissemahn.

We are holding hands. We are dancing. She is whispering in my ear, "Auntie Heather, I will go to Legon." We are practicing numbers. We are drawing our families. We are singing "Sunshine in Africa." We are taking a tro-tro to Legon. We are drinking Coke and Cocktail de Fruits, all at once, because that's the only way Rukia likes to do it. We are in the taxi with Rachel and Mother T and Kwame, and Ruky and Kwame are yelling outside the window to street vendors. We are walking to Rukia's house. I am sitting with her family, they are smiling at me, thanking me, loving me.

And there is one moment that I keep playing in my head over and over again.

Esther, Rukia's mother, told me one day after returning from Legon that Rukia could be my my sister. I told Esther that Rukia would always be my sister. I told her that I loved Rukia. Esther just looked at me, pursing her lips, and then broke into a big smile. She said, in the middle of a sweet, sincere chuckle, "Yes. You are sisters. Always."

I open my eyes. I'm in my queen sized bed. I'm in an air-conditioned house. Here I am, thousands of miles away, with all of the comforts in the world, right. in. my. room. I have more clothes than I know what to do with, a room larger than Rukia's home, and an excess of food downstairs in the fridge.

I miss this girl. I miss her. It breaks my heart not knowing when we will meet again. Do I move forward, recognizing that seeing her again is highly unlikely? Or, can I hope, and believe that our lives will cross paths again?

Or maybe, that's not even the right question. Maybe, instead, I must ask, how did Rukia change my life? What did she give to me? What was I able to give her? How do I carry her within me, knowing that what we shared was a bond that overcame language, age, and cultural differences, and that maybe that's where the story ends? Maybe that's enough.

This is different from adjusting back to life in America. This is missing a 5 year old from Ghana that changed my life. this. is my heart breaking.

I told my mom that Rukia is crazy. She's sharp as a whip though; she's got this zest for life, unlike anything I've seen for someone her age, she's just got it. She's so special, anyone will tell you, and though she certainly is wild at times, she's a good soul. And, I think what hurts more than anything—more than me missing her—is that I don't know for certain that she will have a chance to really succeed in her life. She is now enrolled in a school in Kissemahn (!!!!) but as it so goes in Ghana, this is only for now. If the money runs out, if the family needs her to do chores, she will be out of school in a second.

She lives in the small town of Kissemahn, Ghana. She lives in a home the size of my room with about 5 other people. Her mom has very little money. To the government, she is probably nothing but a number.

But, to anyone who meets her, there is no doubt, she is something special. She has the potential to do great things.

So, I will keep praying. Praying for her, for her family, and that she can get an education. I will also remember that as I got to know her, we loved. We had great times together. What it means for me now, I'm not quite sure, but that was the time we could spend, and my God, I am forever grateful.

You Say I’m Lucky to Love Something that Loves Me

I watched an old best friend get married this weekend. MARRIED. Her horse carriage that brought her to the aisle was stunning, and watching the groom's face—not just the bride's—brought tears to my eyes. I don't know Dusty, the groom. We've met a couple of times in passing. But, as I watched Kristen and Dusty exchange vows on a secluded ranch upon a hill, surrounded by trees, green, her loved ones, and the fresh Colorado air, I knew she was just following her heart.

I think it's a good reminder about what in the world we are all doing here.

God—the way I see, feel, and know Him—is a God that moves, lives, and goes.

He moves, lives, and goes with us.

And, I know it's important to take life slow. To hold it, to touch it. But, when I feel God, I just want to move. Faster. And, I just want to go.

I know people say slowing down is good. It really is, and I learnt and lived that in Ghana.

Still, there's something about vigorously savoring each day, unafraid of change, fearlessly finding new people, things, and places. It's how I've tried to live my whole life. Even as a young girl, I was never idle. I wanted to play at the park any chance I could, I wanted to explore, I wanted to find. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but I never was interested in daintily brushing my dolls' hair. It just wasn't me.

Even with struggles, challenges, and obstacles, there's no reason to stop.

Maybe I'm not going down the aisle anytime soon.

But, I'm glad Kristen did. Because she's happy, and she followed her heart. What an honor, for myself and our friends, and her family, to watch someone commit themselves wholeheartedly to somebody else. Especially, for this person to be someone we all care about.

I hope one day I will.

And, I hope it will be beautiful whenever marriage for me comes along.

But, no reason to wait around.

There are experiences—each day—to be had, people to love, and life to be shared.

When Kristen and Dusty came back down the aisle, as Mr. and Mrs. Warner, everyone was beaming. It was good moment.

It was love.

Whether it's at a wedding, at a lone gas station, at the small corners on a college campus, on the streets leading into downtown, in vast and faraway places, or right in your own home, it's everywhere.

Go, and find it.