I Live in Africa.

Sometimes I forget.  Not like the forget in the sense that I feel like I’m in the States, but in the forget that I feel like I’m at home, I’ve always been here, I’ve always loved the people I love and it’s just life.  Life happens no matter where you’re at.  Whether in Africa you get to love on some kids at the park who will teach you how to say shoes, sun, ear, nose, and head in Sesotho or whether in the States you get to play in the nursery with one adorable pastor’s son.  In Africa, I’m surrounded by language barriers and yet love crosses them all.  I go with the flow and communicate as well as I can while picking up words here and there.  Yet, I am okay for now with not understanding everyone.  I can still love.  I can still hold them, let them play with my hair, have them teach me the language and give them a hug good-bye.  They have captured my heart in such a profound way.  And I struggle to find the words to share this, which is why I am so excited that in a few short days my parents can see my life firsthand.  They can get a glimpse of why I forget, why my hair is crazy in some pictures, and why I live in Africa.