A Piece of Me

(August 10)

I have moved a lot. I was born in New Mexico where I lived for nine short months before I headed to Wisconsin for ten years. Then it was off to Texas for one quick year before we packed right back up and headed to the beautiful (oh I love it) state of Missouri for four. And then we packed up once again and headed to Asheville, North Carolina, where we have lived for going on six years (what?).

And, well, now I live in the jungles of Bolivia.

I honestly enjoyed moving. I love meeting new people and I love new places and new schools and new opportunities. I’m not too opposed to change.

I loved hopping in the car and having no idea what new life I was heading to. It was a surprise; a new slate, a new start, and it filled me with excitement and high expectations.

I still remember the first time I saw my new house in Asheville. I wasn’t able to be part of the original move with my family because I spent my summer magabooking in Missouri. So by the time I got there, we were already all settled in.

I remember walking up to that old white farm house with the red door and thinking this is home.

I walked into my room and looked around at the empty walls, so anxious and ready to fill them with new memories and new thoughts and new people.

And I did. The walls are now painted bright blue and the shelves are filled with books I’ve read and the frames with my closest friends.

But there’s a part of me that’s still baking cookies for the guys in that little dorm apartment on Sunnydale campus.

And there’s a part of me that’s still riding my bike around our neighborhood in Texas.

And there’s a part of me that’s still swinging on the willow tree branches with Jessica in Wisconsin after church gets out.

Even though I’ve only been here for a few weeks, I feel a part of me is getting lost in the lives of these kids. I’m starting to know which ones love to be chased and tickled and which ones would rather be left alone. I’m starting to know which of my boys love to be tucked in and kissed goodnight a million times and which ones just like the lights turned off. I’m starting to know which kids come from decent homes and which ones come from a past that could break one’s heart.

I’m starting to get used to sleeping with lots of not so cute and yes so creepy bugs that enjoy biting me a lot more than I enjoy being bitten.

I’m starting to like walking on dirt with no sidewalks so that when it rains and thunders my feet get covered in mud.

I’m starting to like our little thatch-roofed house where the lights don’t all work and the doors don’t stay shut.

This past Sunday when I was in town I had the incredible privilege of skyping with my family for hours. I got to see my mom, my dad, my sister, my brother, and even my grandma. I’m pretty sure I drove everyone in that restaurant insane as I talked crazy loud and nonstop, but to be honest I cared pretty much not at all because I was talking to my family. And that’s something that doesn’t happen too much down here.

And it just made me think that even though I am having the time of my life here and I am on the biggest adventure I have ever been on there’s a piece of me that’s still over there in the mountains in that little white house.

There’s a part of me that’s still home.

But then I think of where I am now. Where the rain slams down and wakes me up in the middle of the night. Where I go to sleep with hugs and kisses and wake up to grumpy little boys who are just so tired, Teacher. I’m so tired.

I think of Juan Carlos begging me for just one more piece of gum.

I think of Jahel and his dashing smile and how he pokes me and hides under the counter during meals.

I think of Maribel reaching out her arms and jumping off of things, simply trusting that I will catch her.

I think of Hugo’s little giggle and those moments when he’s just so young.

I think of Fermin’s sweet face when he’s in trouble and then watching him run up to me ten minutes later and saying, “I love you. You are my mom.”

I think of my failed attempts of using a machete and listening to all the kids laugh at me.

I think of hot lemongrass tea and bread straight from the oven for supper.

I think of looking up and seeing more stars than I have ever seen in my life.

And I think to myself

This is where I am. This is home. And when I leave, I will leave a piece of me.