sala

I hope to have some intense lessons-learned type of post up soon. But you can't put a timeline on processing over 2 months of life in Africa, especially when one week of that was returning to a place that God used to completely wreck your life. So until then, I'll share some long overdue stories...

Meet Sala :)
Sala is a Ghanaian employee for Global Mamas in charge of processing and preparing international shipments at the house. Out of her dedication to make a better life for herself, she diligently leaves her house every morning at 4:30 to catch 3 different buses/cars to get to the Accra office by 7. She works silently all day straight through lunch and rarely looks up for a break. I worked just feet from her everyday without really knowing her but still oddly curious at who this woman really was.

Everyone has a story. It's on you to find out what it is and just listen.

I thought her selfless dedication to the NGO was inspiring enough. But little did I know, there's much more to Sala than the eye can see. One day at the shop I decided to just ask. Vulnerable to rejection with the possibility of connection. Sala's eyes brightened at the very second I asked, overjoyed that someone not from Ghana would pay attention to her. This isn't me boasting righteousness; it's just one time that I decided to lay down my own pride and do what I could to love the one, as Jesus commands. Sala started off by telling me that she's adopted by a couple in London who have a huge heart for children. She's one of many adopted children by her parents. Instead of choosing to live in luxury in London with her new family, she chose to live in Ghana to dedicate her life to her people, to her home.

Rewind to 8 or so years ago. Sala began working at an orphanage in Accra, Ghana out of her love for children. She knew the work came with little pay, long hours, but the bonus was a full heart at the end of each day. She worked to educate the children, keeping them fed and happy. After a few months, she noticed something wasn't quite right. The money that came in to the orphanage wasn't transferring. Though hundreds, even thousands was spilling in, the children could barely get one meal a day. Tattered clothes and dirty faces broke Sala's heart. She was just an employee feeling helpless and confused. But she knew something just wasn't right. Sala, just one ordinary woman, took it upon herself to get to the bottom of the issue and fight on behalf of the starving children the orphanage was supposed to be protecting. After weeks and months of digging around, Sala discovered the problem. A devastatingly huge problem. The orphanage director was taking most all of the donations flowing into the facility and pocketed them. The director didn't care about the children suffering as a result of her greed.

Sala could've just turned a blind eye. She could've succumbed to her helplessness. But she took a leap and risked it all. Sala went to the already-corrupted governmental officials to officially report the crime. Months passed with no answer, no justice. Sala was fired immediately after her filed report. It appeared the director had gotten away with it all. Sala said she didn't feel defeated because she knew she did all she could for the children. After 8 years of dedication to loving each child in the orphanage, Sala was unemployed and hurt. It was then that Sala began working for Global Mamas as she was in desperate need of a steady income. Almost a year after starting her position at Global Mamas, Sala was informed of some incredibly exciting news. The police caught up with the orphanage director, arrested her, and shut down the corrupt operations of the orphanage. Children were split into smaller groups and placed in loving orphanages and homes across Ghana. Sala kept in touch with her sweet children and never gave up on bringing justice to those without a voice.

If the story ended here, I would still rejoice over her persistence to see justice brought to these children, desiring a better life for them. But this woman, just one woman, let love shine even brighter. She currently works a full work week with Global Mamas but uses her weekends to visit groups of children that were split up after the dissolution of the orphanage. Sala devotes her life to loving these children and doesn't need a salary to do so. This is sacrifice. This is LOVE. The one day she shared this story with me, she had just returned from one boy's birthday party over 5 hours away who had recently been adopted by a Ghanaian couple. 10 hours of travel for one boy. Inspiring, touching yet challenging to my heart.

What will you do to defend those who can't defend themselves?

Learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.
Isaiah 1:17

harder

Life in America is harder for me than life in Africa.

It's tough being back. It's tough looking around and seeing the disconnect between how the Bible says to live and how we actually live. And it's hard to not fall into the trap of living in this blinding American materialism just like most everyone else. God COMMANDS us to look after the poor and needy, an active command to DO SOMETHING. But how do you help people here that have everything and more? In Africa you pray for God to provide people with water, with a next meal, praying against fatal disease and illness. In America in 2009, 99% of children made it through each day without skipping a meal. 99.6% of America's poor owns a refrigerator and 78% have air conditioning. It's hard for me to be America-minded with these statistics. Is it wrong to be Africa-minded in terms of giving? I don't think so. But it is wrong for me to be only Africa-minded in my lifestyle, in prayer? Absolutely. Every person in the world, regardless of their economic status, is hurting. And every person has been offered a way out of that pain through Christ, through letting Him bear those burdens through seeking His forgiveness from the debt we owe that's already been taken care of. So maybe it's hard to be compassionate some days, hard to love. But rather than being clouded with American materialism I pray for clarity. I pray for God to show me how to love ALL people.

It doesn't have to be difficult. It's actually really simple. God's called me to love. And actions stem from that love. I first love Him and all else falls into place. But I've been home for 4 days and already I'm up to my neck with to-do lists and anxiety, overwhelmed with all that has to be done with Clothed in Hope, with school, this transition back into "normal" life, just with time. Time that seems to be slipping away and instead of tackling things head-on my first instinct is just to curl up in a ball and hope it fixes itself. It's weird. It's also a bittersweet kinda thing. Friends who know me well know I'm not a huge fan of the mushy gushy but something inside me is getting all sentimental with this year that doesn't only mark the last year of college but the last year of life as I know it. And if I'm being honest, that's kinda scary.

I can't articulate my feelings or what's going through my head. It's a lot but it's also not. It's joy, it's pain. It's everything it feels like. Rather than sitting down to hash out these feelings or spending hours trying to pinpoint the things I need to "fix," I'll choose to act in a way that's not my first instinct. At all. I'll choose to seek God's truth above my truth:

So do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am Your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold You with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10

back

In just an hour I'll be leaving this place that's been "home" and heading to the airport to go home. Nine weeks have passed. I've been to Zambia and back. I've completed over 300 hours of my internship. I've seen a lot. Learned so much. I love it here in Africa but something just feels ready to be back. Maybe because I'll be returning in a few short months so it's not "goodbye," it's "see you later."

There are some things I won't particularly miss over the next few months though. I won't miss the uncertainty of every meal, wondering how it'll make me feel in a matter of minutes and never really feeling 100%. I won't miss this country-wide water shortage that forces me to take bucket showers with water fetched from our pool. I won't miss the smells or the gagging feeling walking by a particularly rank gutter. I won't miss sweating. All the time. There are of course other things I won't miss too badly. As I was thinking about all of these things my heart leaped a little bit about the comforts I get to slip back into. However in the back of my mind I couldn't shake the thought that it's not fair to think like this. I get to leave. Everyone here has to stay- battling disease, malaria, parasites, malnutrition, life difficulties, poverty, water shortages, dehydration, even death. Rather than only rejoicing over what I'll gain over the next few hours, I will choose to pray for what I leave behind, for the people who can't just hop on a plane to live a different life. I pray for their strength, their safety, but most of all, their eyes to be opened to the only One who can save them from all things in this life- Jesus.

Will you join me in praying for the people of Ghana, of Zambia, of Africa?

storms

I wrote this entry back on May 13. No special day, it was just on my heart to write it. I’ve come to realize that this whole Zambia adventure is glamorized, that people believe it was just out of pure passion that I founded Clothed in Hope. I’ve written this entry to show you that this idea couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m sorry for misleading you with what you believe to be the beginning of Clothed in Hope. Today, I want to share the real beginning. I’ve been saving this entry for the day that Clothed in Hope became a 501(c)(3) tax-exempt organization and I’m overjoyed to post this TODAY! I write this entry from MY point of view, from MY heart. I’ve been excited to share this story but as I type it today, I’m actually kinda scared. But here goes nothing…
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Storms. Unexpected, sudden, strong, forceful, uninvited, overpowering. The effects can either be renewing or devastating. Nothing in between. Either producing fertile land for new life or tearing down even the strongest foundations with its harsh winds and torrential rains. I’ve always compared my season of darkness last semester as fire, refining my faith into priceless gold, the purest treasure of the greatest worth. But looking back now I see it as a long storm. Unsure of the start and finish, coming up suddenly but vaguely, like a shower that kicks off an awful storm. Ending in either one of two ways and having little to do with that decision but still having input. Last semester’s storm ripped down much of all I knew and was comfortable with- especially in regards to faith. Its winds stretched and bent the faith I thought I was so sure of. But through persistence, through batting down the hatches with blind faith and desperate prayers, along with a huge helping of grace from the most merciful God, my storm ended how many don’t get to. Producing a plentiful harvest, producing fertile land for God to do with it what He pleased, what He had planned it for from the start. I deserve zero credit for this miraculous ending, for its product. I just merely chose to cling to what I knew in my mind was most important though at many times it strongly different from what my heart felt. My heart felt betrayed, angered, wanting the easy way out But from what I’ve learned from God and of God, following Jesus would be better- eternally.

This whole metaphor sets up for a brilliantly complex story of the REAL beginning of Clothed in Hope- one hidden deep in my heart that’s lately been screaming to get out. This isn’t for my pride or to tear down the other person’s. It’s actually not about people whatsoever. It’s about an incredibly faithful God who taught me real, raw, honest, blind faith for the first time in my life to bring me to a place of the same blind faith daily walking in God’s will for me through Clothed in Hope. I want people to know that the beginning wasn’t some giggly slumber party or the joyous feeling of that fashion show I volunteered at. It didn’t dawn on me like some lightbulb moment. It was a direct product of the hardest semester of my life. God doesn’t promise us that we’ll see the motive behind something He does, or that we’ll reap the harvest- not on this earth at least. But eternally? You bet. God’s grace- the undeserved gift- is the only explanation for how I get to see the product transform into what it is today. There are still questions I wrestle with but at the end of the day I know my God is for my good, He’s faithful, He’s gracious, He’s merciful, He’s sovereign over all things. So let’s rewind to Zambia, a full year ago:

I began my Zambia journey not knowing a soul, ready to see God rock my world, unaware of just how He planned to do so. Excited to be content in my singleness for the first time, maybe ever, I was confident that I knew how it would play out. I’d meet great people who would turn into great friends, witness a shocking culture that would break my heart and grow my faith. All of these things happened, and then some. All of these things happened subordinate to this unforeseen thing. A relationship. One that I didn’t pray for or expect one but one that God brought my way to stretch me a bit. Sure six weeks wasn’t long but in foreign place, living in the same house, sharing not only events and memories but also emotional and spiritual experiences, things took off. For the first time in my life I was being pursued in the most beautiful and God-glorified way: protected, treasured, encouraged. I didn’t understand or even welcome a lot of it until I realized it was God’s way of showing me how to be vulnerable again, how to trust, open up, and let someone else into my usually guarded heart. God really taught me how to do this in a healthy way, a way that pushed us both closer to Jesus through such uncharted territory. We experienced things that 99% of new couples never will. We laughed together on bus rides but also shared emotional moments of (me) crying after stepping off the bus onto a dirty road in front of the orphanage with beautiful but disease-stricken children singing songs of praise to God in the loudest, most glorious little voices. Stuff like that doesn’t happen at the movie theater. God pushed me out of my comfort zone maybe even further than anything in Africa did. I could deal with cold showers, strange foods and cold nights. But I had no idea how to approach this new phase in my life. It took a bit of time but I grew to really treasure what God gifted me with- a man seeking the Lord above all else with that in the forefront of our entire relationship. This man was a part of our group so we both knew that things in America would look a bit different. But he told me he was ready for that challenge so off we went. My best friends shared in my joy, and I was able to sit back and really marvel at what God did to repair my heart and bring me to this new place that had been a desire of my heart ever since I really started living for Christ.

Back in America was more of a culture shock than Africa. Already the dissonance got to me. But I was thankful that I had this special person to go through it with me, talking things out and continuing to point me to Christ. If the story cut off there I would mention how the reverse culture shock was like PTSD to me- shook me up completely and I fought this daily battle against hatred for America. But God wanted to push me further. So the sprinkles that were falling soon turned into a huge crack of lightning and thunder with a torrential downpour. All at once with a phone call. One that essentially consisted of “I want out.” Before I knew it I was up to my head with floodwaters of insecurity, anger, heartbreak, doubt and worst of all, bitterness. Not towards the one who delivered this rough news to me but against God. How could He?! He made me open up parts of my heart that I had walled up for so long. He tainted my whole Zambia experience with memories involving another person. He dangled something so great in front of my eyes to only take it away when I was just about to reach out and grab it with full joy. Was this some sort of sick joke? Some may see this as just a breakup, but for me it was a breakup with all I knew- with him, with myself, with trusting God. The next weeks that followed were far from easy. I was so angry, so confused I read these “comforting” verses over and over as if to get them to sink in but they only made me angrier. Did God care about MY feelings at all? I grew apart from friends, even fought with the one who had never given up on me. I wanted nothing to do with anyone who had the capability of hurting me like he did, or at least how I let him. This was the part of the storm with rain so hard you can’t even see feet in front of you. I was driving through this ordeal with wipers on high speed but nothing I could do could get me to see even inches in front of me. I knew God, I cried out to Him, I got real with Him, I shouted at Him. At the thickest rain though, I fell to His feet. I threw up my hands and tried to accept what He had panned. This wasn’t even close to a linear progression. But let me just say, God was and is for my good. God knew that for my control-seeking personality, I would have to have the rug pulled completely out from under me to look up to see what’s next. God broke my faith to rebuild it into something so beautifully new and intricate. To know Him deeper.

The rain still fell but in it I could see the sun peeking out. Jesus spared me intense destruction and came to my rescue. There were only brief moments when I felt the closeness of God. Most times I just had the promises of God in His Word and clung to them. I plastered these promises all over my room in hopes that they’d be engrained in my heart. God had to take extreme measures wrecking my faith to make it into the one He desired. I walked through the darkest time holding the hand of my Father, the One who desires every ounce of my heart. Even in that time I wasn’t lacking anything. I was and am complete in Christ. God taught me the hard way of what real faith is: trusting that God is for my good when I can’t see evidence of that whatsoever.

So then began the repair stage, changing my bitter heart into one of tender forgiveness, coping with Africa memories by embracing them while still appreciating my place in America. Seeking forgiveness and starting fresh in the friendships I turned my back on. God is FULL of grace through what Jesus did on the cross 2000 years ago and I’ve never grasped grace either until all of this happened. I’m grateful for the Lord breaking me and teaching me how to walk by faith daily, for showing me that emotions and feelings have no effect on God’s truths. Through the downpour, my life was being prepared for God’s harvest. He was ready to harvest my passions and talents for His glory and not my own. I don’t want this to ever be misunderstood to mean that hardship produces tangible blessings. Because it usually doesn’t. But our testing from God will produce spiritual blessings. Closeness to God is better than any gift or outcome of hardship. What he taught me will forever shape my faith and what I know of God.

God forgave all doubt and bitterness and anger that I threw at Him- through Christ’s death and resurrection. I have been raised up to be new. I am not seen as the doubter but as perfect through Christ. Did I deserve an ounce of this? No. But God chose to pour out His grace and mercy out of love, as He does to all people on earth through Christ to those who accept Him, believe in Him, and choose to live for Him. Late last fall while still in the repair stages I started to see the first sign of life peek out of the soil, one that would begin the growth of the most beautiful flower that has become Clothed in Hope. God knew. He knows every step necessary to form us into who He wants us to be. I praised God then for who He was and I praise Him now that He’s still the same and will always be the same.

I now cling to this verse in my heart to continue walking in blind faith, covered by the grace of God: Hebrews 10:23 “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess for He who promised is faithful.” Oh and this one too, “Those who seek the Lord lack no good thing” Psalm 34:10b. The storm was good. The tears were good. Because they brought me closer to my Maker and the Creator of the universe, than ever before in my entire life. My life is complete NOW. I no longer have to “wait” for good. Because this verse even proves that I have ALL His good now in seeking God. I don’t praise what He’s given me, I praise the Giver for who He is. He doesn’t have to give to be good. Christ is enough.

So I guess my motivation in sharing this super long story is to share how God brought me to this place of having enough faith to do something crazy like start a nonprofit corporation and move to Zambia as a single 22 year old. Because these things really aren’t crazy. They’re just another step in the path of God’s will for me. And that is GOOD. I realize this isn’t just a lemonade stand or a social-conscious fad. I also know that my God is faithful to fulfill His promises. He’s even proven that to me. Now is there room for even an ounce of doubt in that?

need

This is a text I received yesterday from Elina in Ng'ombe who I visited with all last week:
"Hi Amy! How was your trip back to Ghana? Tell Will and Kathy that I'm saying thank you for all the support. The children still need you here. May God bless you and your parents. You have been so good to us. Love you."

These words pierced straight through my heart while reading the text in a taxi in Accra, Ghana. I miss it. My heart aches. I've felt so many emotions over the past two weeks that I can't even begin to put into words. It's hard being in Ghana, especially when I receive texts like this. "The children still need you here." I still need them. I need to be reminded of what childlike faith looks like, how living in pure desperation produces abundant life in the Lord, what real hardship is, and to get a grip with what really matters.

Last week provided incredible clarity into the vision of Clothed in Hope. It shed light on things that aren't possible and opened up doors of things that are. Now I'm back at work left with all of this jumbled in my head. I could easily, and many times want to, just curl up in a ball and be in Zambia-mode and have everyone leave me alone. But that's not right. I need Zambia and I need the children. Most of all, I need Jesus. I rejoice that Elina's children know Jesus and don't really need me for any part of life. As incredible as it is to be used by God in their lives, I have to be reminded of the truth: they have it all in Him.

eleven

Here's a blog post I typed to post on July 1 (Friday) but the internet was down so I'm just getting around to putting it up:


These past few days here in Lusaka have been incredible. My expectations have been exceeded, prayers have been answered, and my heart has about burst at the seams with joy. I've met with Zambians in ministry, Zambians in Ng'ombe, and American missionaries who have all contributed different tidbits of insight and wisdom into Clothed in Hope and just daily life here in general. I've been blessed to even stop by a couple of schools to hand out shoes, underwear, socks, stickers, face wipes and bracelets all donated by family friends in NC. Each day has been packed with so many great meetings and opportunities to love and I've loved every second. Today (Friday) will probably go down as one of the favorites of all time though.

This morning we got up early to meet Elina, one of the widows in Ng'ombe, to visit the Quarry School. The school is in the poorest part of the already poverty-stricken slum. Children there are mostly single and double orphans with tattered clothes, no shoes or shoes hanging by a thread, runny noses and infected scrapes, and without a next meal to look forward to. Medical care isn't an option and the "school" is barely that. The children sit on wooden benches if they're lucky. The little ones just sit on a board on the ground. Their teacher, an incredibly caring and enthusiastic man, is responsible for teaching 50 little ones all below fifth grade and is doing a wonderful job. The school is just a structure of cinder blocks on the very edge of the compound. Though the children appear to have nothing they carry this incredible joy with them. While visiting, we were able to hand out pairs of shoes to the matches though it was difficult finding who fit the glass slipper at times. One sweet girl was busting out of her sandals with over a third of her foot hanging off the front of her sandal. She was chosen to try some of the shoes on but none fit. My heart ached as I had to hand her back the too-small shoes and send her back to the group without a gift in hand. (If TOMS reads this sometime, please visit Kasisi in Ng'ombe. They need you.) Each child either received shoes, underwear or socks and you would've thought it was Christmas morning in there. This one girl in particular, Flora, stole my heart. She was the tiniest one in the school and had these eyes that just pierce right through your heart. She looked up at me with the big eyes and something just clicked. Precious Flora didn't leave my side and was even first in line for nail painting. She appeared shy and reserved but clung to my side just craving that closeness. When we finished with the manicures we just sat around and played little games with the children. Flora took a spot on my lap and didn't crack a smile the entire time. Until the tickle game started. A huge group of girls laughed their heads off, some revealing beautifully bare-toothed smiles. I should've known I was in for it though because an attack soon followed and I was the one who couldn't catch my breath from laughing so hard. At my expense, Flora cracked a smile and that timidity melted away to reveal a beautiful heart, a heart just longing to be loved. If I could have smuggled her out of there trust me I would have. When it was time to go, little Flora just looked up at me with those huge eyes and held out her hand for me to shake it, though I couldn't resist but say goodbye with a hug and a photo too. I absolutely will be back soon. Please pray for these sweet children living in poverty like we can never imagine.

Soon after our school visit I was able to sit down and meet with the first group of women to be enrolled in the Clothed in Hope sewing training program. Elina coordinated our meeting and served as the translator when things didn't quite make sense as I explained them. She, her daughter Tresa, Jessy, Doreen and Vera all sat around Elina's living room and let me see just a glimpse into their lives. We talked about life for them in Ng'ombe as women, hardships there and ended just sharing a bit about ourselves. They were all hesitant but ended up being very receptive to the plans of Clothed in Hope. At the beginning I couldn't get any responses or any smiles back but at the end of our meeting the women were parting ways with hugs all around. The harshness on their faces exposed the hurt and pain they have lived through which I'll probably never understand. But the words that followed the hugs are what really touched my heart. I told the women I'd be back in a year and apologized for the time being so long. Doreen corrected me and said "Eleven months. It's only eleven months away!" with a hesitant yet radiant smile. These women need help. They admit it and are begging for help. They're dreaming of better lives with this skills training and can't wait for everything to begin. Elina even said that there's "no one to depend on." Jessy said that she's looking forward to the skills training because her life will be changed. She will be able to be someone else with the hope that it delivers. If that's not motivation to help, I'm not sure what is. These are real women with real hurt and real struggles. Not just shallow insecurities but life-dependent worries and fears.

I also was able to meet up with 2 girls I met while doing campus ministry at Copperbelt University in Kitwe, Zambia last summer. It was incredible to see them again! One of them, Faith, was a freshman when I met her. I told her I was coming so she traveled 5 hours to meet me for the weekend, is paying for accommodations for the weekend, and will travel 5 hours back. All with a dead cell phone and barely enough money to pay the fare on the way back. All to get ice cream with me for one hour at a shopping center she'd never been to before. That's pretty convicting. I don't know if I can honestly say I'd do the same for a friend traveling from far away but through her I see the selflessness of Christ. She's a beautiful friend with a beautiful heart and I'm so blessed by her friendship. Same with Mwansa who now lives in Lusaka and offered to be there for me when I move next year.

This all just happened today. My heart has been on a roller coaster from joy and love to hurting for these children and women in Ng'ombe. My head is about to explode from thinking through things though I feel like I haven't even begun to sort out from everything I've been seeing and experiencing. I'm looking forward to days ahead of processing everything though someone will have to drag me on that plane tomorrow night. It's been absolutely incredible here. But I rejoice in that I could be back in just eleven months.

family

Sad to say, I'm writing this on the last day of the Zambia trip. We fly out tonight at 2am (strange I know) and it's all pretty bittersweet. Over the past few days I've been blessed to meet and reunite with some incredible people. Most inspiring of them all: Elina. Elina is the woman who I met last summer who greatly influenced the decision to begin Clothed in Hope. Every day here I've been at her house in the morning, going to schools for games and giveaways, and meeting with some of the women who will be the first to go through Clothed in Hope's sewing program. Elina so graciously coordinated all of these things, opened her house to us and really just treated us as her own family. It was great seeing the kids again and learning so much from their strength and complete reliance on the Lord. Elina's oldest, Frank, just finished his first term at a university. Coming from his background in the Ng'ombe compound, he had a rough year. Which is an understatement. Frank told my parents all about the isolation he felt without "bills in the pockets." Frank is the ONLY person in the entire Ng'ombe compound to attend the university. Out of 80,000 or so. The only. And we all couldn't be prouder of his achievements, his perseverance, and his servant heart for his family.

Today I went to Elina's house to say goodbye and was greeted with a song and dance from her two daughters and one of the orphans who lives with her. The entire family grouped together for a photo and it was so hard to leave. After hugs and handshakes all around we left with a "see you soon" rather than a goodbye. Just a few hours later, Elina texted me wanting me to meet her best friend since childhood, Susan. There with her friend, Elina spoke of the hard times she's faced. I've heard the story in an email but she never spoke of it around me until now. She used few words but the look of pain, of struggle in her eyes said it all. Her husband died just 3 years ago from a case of malaria that took him from her in a matter of days. After his death she had to move all the children to Ng'ombe, away from Susan and her childhood neighborhood, due to her lack of income and her isolation as a widow. I can never and will never be able to understand what she's been through. But her begging of prayers for God's strength and to be abiding in Him daily help me see a glimpse into her life and her heart. Her selflessness and graciousness in her family are incredible. The way she radiates Christ to each child and raises them not in bitterness but in love is astounding. I've been so blessed to live just a few hours of life with her this week and am looking forward to years of friendship to come.

When we parted ways one final time Susan said "We are now all family. We are one." For a people who have suffered much and been hurt greatly, those aren't just words. They're a warm embrace, a welcome into a deep friendship. Susan and Elina both like to refer to the time I'm coming back in relation to months, not even saying that it's a year out. With a huge smile on her face and after sharing offers of cooking classes and help adjusting here, Susan once again shared a few words that spoke right to my heart: "When you come in June, you just tell others that you're going home. This is your home."

As bittersweet is it is to leave now, as it will be to leave all of my incredible friends at Carolina, my family and friends in NC, it's comforting to know that I'm doing lots of leaving, but just to come home to a family.