let it fill the space between.

I've been home as long as I was there.

4 months ago, I came home from 4 months full of the adventure of a lifetime.
Except, the more I'm home and away from Ghana, the more I realize that while our time there was an adventure, it was more of a journey than anything else.
I've been continuing the journey here; I've been learning how to live my life away from Ghana. As everyday ticks by and each moment passes, I try to soak all of it up, but in the same moment, I try and remember what the past year has meant for me.

My biggest fear?
I will forget.
I will forget what that hot, dusty sun felt like fresh on my skin.
I will forget the cramped and yet comforting tro ride into town.
I will forget the comfort in a long lasting sip of citrus tampico, knowing that nothing else could quite quench my thirst (except for maybe some chilled Coke!)
I will forget my friends, our jokes, and what it felt like to be an American abroad.
My worst fear is I will forget what the lives were like for the kids I taught, for the Kissemahn kids. No, I won't ever forget the smell of sewage, of the laughter of their small voices, or even some of the topics we talked about together. But, will I forget what this means for the rest of my life? Will I forget what it felt like to actually BE THERE?

What happens if time takes that all away?

4 months later and I am not the same--nor will I ever be. Maybe it's this that will help me remember.
I've gained a little perspective, have my priorities better in line, and I appreciate the life I have had so so much more.
The last month of my life, especially, has confirmed that right now, I am exactly where I need to be. I love my family, I really do, but I don't know. Life just makes sense here now. So much of me is here. Coming back to Hendrix was coming home too, and it's been critical in helping me get back to living my life in this beautiful country again.
Maybe this is what happens when you find a home in more than one place--around the world even.

Maybe that is just the point. Home is beyond the house; home is your heart feeling perfectly in place.

For the first time in 4 months, it does.

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.

Ubuntu

One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity.

We think of ourselves

far too frequently as just

individuals,

separated from

one another,

whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity. (Desmond Tutu)

I first stumbled across Ubuntu when reading some of the words and inspirations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Big surprise there.

It was on the back of this book, a saying that could have been easily overlooked, but somehow, I managed to see it.

I am what I am because of who we all are.

This is the essence of Ubuntu, a concept a part of African spirituality, particularly stemming from southern parts in Africa.

I've been thinking a lot about humanity, and the world, yes, of course, but I have also been thinking about a special place in my heart where a special group of girls reside.

I have tasted a sense of interconnectedness around the globe, and that's beautiful. I also can feel a very different, but even more tangible interconnectedness with my best friends at Hendrix, which I think counts for something really special.

Dear Ali, Lauren, Jordana, Michelle, and Rachel,

I am what I am because of who we all are.

I've changed a lot over these past three years. And, it's no question that y'all have too. And your change has been a part of my change. What have we have done has affected each other, and somehow, after Habitat, adventures on the field hockey bus, Bible Study, classes, SoCo54, all the good times, and all the hard times too, I find myself ready for this last year, more ready than ever to do it with my best friends.

We are all so different—crazy different, even. But as I get my stuff slowly back together to come back to our home in Conway, well, I think back on all of our adventures, journeys, experiences, and times together, and somehow I feel so much reassurance, love, and comfort, just knowing we are all on this same ride together. It's nice. It's senior year, y'all.

And when we finally reunite, it will be the first time some of us have seen each other in almost 9 MONTHS. Hello, like Rachel has said, someone could have had a BABY in that time.

I will see you, Michelle, and we can finally read our bibles together and journal, and contemplate things such as time while somehow also having a photo shoot and still getting our homework done.

I will see you, Ali, and we can play field hockey together again (!!!!) and continue our creeper game, and of course discuss the state of the world in the same conversation we talk about hot men.

I will see you, Rachel, and we will finally be back together after our EPIC adventure in Ghana. We can talk Ghanaian, continue our heart to hearts, and of course, be ridiculous as always.

I will see you, Lauren, and we will get to play hockey together again (!!!!) and meet for breakfast, and talk about anything and everything, being rebellious here and there.

I will see you Jordana, and we will laugh together, try accents together, and of course complete the mission together. I will cook you Ghanaian food, and you will bring me baked goods.

Ubuntu might have been intended in African spirituality as a way to see the world, and oh, I see it. I am living it. Y'all are a part of this journey I am having.

You can't exist as a human in isolation. I believe this.

You can't thrive at Hendrix without some beautiful people around you. I believe this too.

I know things have changed, and will keep changing too. This is life. Josh Radin so beautifully says, "so let the wine blow us, to wherever it says we are supposed to go."

But, I think change makes us stronger. It brings us closer. So, when we go back in a few weeks, I look forward to lots of hugs, tears, stories, wine, and picking up right where we left off.

Love y'all,

Heather

 

 

 

 

2 albums; one heart

I finally have my Ghana pictures all put together in an album. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

I love it.

And as I looked through the album that now holds snapshots of our crazy, wild, incredible journey: the Kissemahn kids, Coca-Cola, Togo & Benin, the beautiful coastline of Ghana, and our random photo shoots around Accra, I managed to find the photo album that I had with me while I was in Ghana.

This album was a source of comfort for me while I was abroad. It was nice to have a piece of home when I came across difficulties, when I was sad, when I was homesick, and when I was needing a little reminder of everything I had waiting for me at home.

In this album are pictures of my family, of various trips, and of course, my friends.

It has pictures from my mission trip to Vietnam, of the hockey team, of my incredible grandma, of my best friends and I jaunting around Hendrix, of hikes in my favorite parts of the mountains, and even of Buddy.

There are empty spots for pictures where Rukia, Salem, and Gloria took a few to keep in their homes back in Kissemahn. I think I'm going to leave it like that—a nice reminder of where I have left a big piece of my heart.

Though it's impossible to describe what my journey in Ghana has meant for me, with these pictures, and some story-telling, I can make a little headway.

As I look through the photos of familiarity—my parents, siblings, and friends—I like where I am going. I like where I have been. I like it, just right here. Right now.

That's the trick with photographs, you know. How to embrace them for exactly what they mean; to let them take you back, but also use them to propel you forward. I don't know when I'm going back to Ghana. I don't think that door has completely closed just yet. So, when I look back on these pictures, I will laugh, cry, and remember. I will cherish. And I will appreciate and know that is from these experiences that I am who I am. And, I have that forever. I am taking that with me. I am moving forward with this inside of me.

That is the value of a photograph.

 

The beautiful pianist

A perfect moment.

We celebrated birthdays for the month of July today in the dining room at The Gathering Place.

Ice cream. Cake. Singing.

One woman slowly made her way over to the big brown piano, took a seat, and just played. Her eyes were far from being fixated on the music; it was clear, this woman knew this song by heart.

She was playing an old church hymn. Everyone stopped and listened.

Her eyes shut, and still I could see them. She was in another world. She was gone.

I wanted more and more and more.

The music came slowly, and then quickly, and all at once everyone was mesmerized. This was by a woman, who maybe by society and the rest of the world has counted her out.

She isn't rich enough. She isn't skinny enough. She needs help. She can't do it alone.

It makes me wonder: who really can?

And so here she is. Playing the grand piano with vigor I haven't seen in so long.

I feel refreshed. Invigorated. Renewed. Just from watching, and feeling her heart that she is so generously pouring out for everyone to feel.

As quick as it comes, it is over. She gets a standing ovation, and the women are on their feet clapping, screaming, taken aback by the beauty this woman so unexpectedly displayed.

What are we all carrying around that we can offer the world?

So let the wind blows us

So, I've been thinking.

Yes, please run. When that happens, it can be quite scary.

And, I don't really know what everything means. Because I'm young, oh so young, and I don't know exactly what I want out of this crazy life.

But, maybe, at the exact same time, I do.

I wrote in my journal.

I want to be happy.

I want to love.

I want to be a woman of hope. I want hope to guide me, pull me, push me. Just when I think I can't go any further.

I want to play. I never want to stop, I never want to stop exploring, learning, and appreciating.

I want to get dirty. Dirt on my face, hands, under my nails. As long as that means I've lived, and maybe enjoyed this beautiful earth that much more.

I want to laugh. And, make people laugh too. Even at the risk of sounding like a complete crazy loon. It's just so much more fun that way.

I want to know God. I want that to come and go right through my soul, so that I always feel like He is filling me right back up.

I want to be a best friend. I want to have best friends.

I want to fall in love. With a man, with beautiful children, with places all over this world.

I want to be strong. Strong enough to be independent, still relying on God and others, and strong enough to be me. Not afraid to be exactly who I am.

And, more than anything, I just want to believe. I want to believe that anything is possible. That love can move mountains. That everything happens for a reason. And that every day, every moment. It's a gift.

So, yes, I've been thinking. Life is confusing, challenging, hard, ugly, dirty, and just plain ridiculous sometimes. But you know what?

Those perfect moments—watching a pure and steady sunset, laughing with tears rolling down your face, coming home with grass stains from a game well played, and just LIVING—it kind of makes everything worthwhile.

Open the door.

Streetlight by Joshua Radin.

 

I'll wait for something under a streetlight
It won't be long because

 

It's dark, it's cold it's one of those nights where

Something out there keeps me alive


But I don't know where to go

So I think I'll sit and stay here a while

Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go.

 

When you want something but can't name it
It's under a streetlight

It's something you've never seen before
Open the door

It's something you've always been afraid of

It's under a streetlight
And now all you want is more

But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go

I don't mind the wait it's fine

As long as you know

It's the wait that could be the something.


But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go