Tomorrow morning I fly to a different kind of place. I dive into the deep end of new sounds, smells and heat. I become a island and begin the task of building a bridge from my island to the land around me.
But for right now I still look out glass windows at bare trees backed by ice blue skies. For right now I listen to a ticking clock and bury my feet under flannel sheets. Its quiet...very quiet. So quiet I can hear the medal roof creak in the sunshine. For the moment Africa is only a map on my bedroom wall. I look at it instead of being in it. I think about it instead of experience it.
What is it I'm feeling? I can't put my finger on it. Anxiety. Eagerness. Reluctance.
A hymn I'm thinking of:
Hark, the voice of Jesus calling,
“Who will go and work today?
Fields are ripe and harvests waiting,
Who will bear the sheaves away?”
Long and loud the Master calls us,
Rich reward He offers free;
Who will answer, gladly saying,
“Here am I, O Lord, send me”?
While the lost of earth are dieing,
And the Master calls for you,
Let none hear you idle saying
"There is nothing I can do"
Take the task He gives you gladly;
Let His work your pleasure be;
Answer quickly when He calls you,
“Here am I, O Lord, send me.”
I am at peace.