As a teenager, I was given the opportunity to go to Mexico on a short-term mission trip with my youth group. After hearing about the trip, though, I quickly told myself “no“, and found ways to avoid having a conversation with my youth pastor about it so that I wouldn’t have to explain myself. So I…
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I have felt at home sitting on a roof in India, riding a bike though a town in
Germany, reading a book in Nicaragua, and dancing with gypsies in Turkey. I have felt at home in places I where I don’t speak the language and I definitely don’t blend in. Why is that?
I watched her walk away, the girl I’d met 20 minutes before, dragging her sorrow along with her behind a tiny suitcase. A burden weighed so heavily on her shoulders that it almost felt the clouds should have been out, the sky should have been depressed along with her. Instead, the sun blazed on our skin and we wondered, “Did we do enough?”
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Their families live off of the trash. I had never seen something so disgusting. But I realized I have chased the garbage truck, too, hungry for new trash. The world is the truck, and its hollow ideas of identity and satisfaction are the waste. But if you know nothing else, then why not keep chasing?
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