Two Thousand and Fourteen

I hoped to compose some thoughts earlier then now, but the last month or so has been a consuming whirlwind of commotion. Just now in the wee hours of the day after Christmas am I finally able to sit and take in everything that has happened. I am finally able to release the words that have been gnawing on the inner most parts of my brain for far too long. I am finally able to breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

However, those breaths of unburdened, refreshing air bring the oxygen levels back to my brain and send nerves pulsing with recollections of everything that has happened over the course of the year. With the dates of two thousand and fourteen being so hastily checked off, it is hard not to reflect on the events--both good and bad--that have carefully constructed the building blocks of these past fifty-two weeks. 

And even though only twelve or thirteen of those weeks were spent in foreign lands, that's all on which I can fix my mind. 

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Last year at a Christmas party, I received a copy of the book Kisses from Katie, compliments of my incredible youth minister and his wife. I'd been meaning to read for a while--ever since I returned from Kenya in 2012, in fact. But school consumed all of my time and allowed no room for pleasure reading. I finally started reading this little jewel while I was home during that break but was quickly whisked away into the festivities of the season. The book was set aside along with a promise that I would return. The spring semester started up, and the book was carefully placed on a shelf in my dorm room. I purposefully positioned the book to stare me in the eye each time I sat I my desk. I would often look at it with a face that read "I promise I'll get back to you, but right now, I have to write six lesson plans in order to survive this semester." Then I would guiltily look down at my work and push the book to the back of my mind. The cycle continued until the day I had to move out of the dorms for the summer. While I was packing, I kept in mind that I would be traveling to Kenya and would not need to take much of anything back with me. I shoved some clothes in a bag, threw my laptop in my backpack, and grabbed a few books for entertainment purposes. Everything else was placed in storage. But as I was just about to leave, I remembered that promise I had made to the author Katie Davis a few months earlier. I ran to storage to retrieve this book and placed it in my crowded book bag along with everything else. 

And, oh goodness, am I glad I did. 

During the week I had at home before I left for the airport, I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. I visited with family members and friends in the few short days I had before I would leave for the most impacting trip of my life. I got well-wishes from most and words of discouragement from a few. I was told of the unexpected journeys I might find along the way and the danger I could possibly face. I took all negatives with a  grain of salt. My last night in the United States was spent in the embrace of my mother and immediate family members, and it was also full of a few shed tears due to frustrations with luggage and packing. As I prepared my carry-on bag for the airport the next day, I remembered Katie Davis and the promise I had made to read her book about her life in Uganda. I carefully placed it in my trusty backpack to keep me company during my flights. Then I rushed out the door to set out on my journey. 

As soon as I left my siblings and teary mother after going through security, I pulled out the book I had put off for so long. I opened the cover and began to let my mind wander through the beautifully written pages of a nineteen year-old-girl who fell head-over-heals in love with the people in a country of East Africa. I consumed several chapters before I yanked my head out of the book as I heard my flight number being called for boarding. I quickly grabbed my backpack, found my spot in the plane, and began reading once again. This pattern continued all throughout my three days of traveling. I had to take a break from my reading when I arrived in Kenya, but I finally finished the story while I was spending some time with a magnificent family I had met two years prior. I referred back to the book several times throughout my stay, and even more since I have been back. 

I am convinced that Katie Davis wrote this book specifically for me. Just one year ago, this copy was in pristine condition: brand new, never been opened, no marks to be found. Now, however, the sides have stains of dirt and tea, the pages are dog-eared from memorable stories, and many lines have been reinstated with markings of agreement or notability. Though we are currently in different circumstances, I know that this young lady and I desire to do similar things with similar people groups in similar circumstances. 

Quite a few of the thoughts racing across my mind on a day to day basis are the same ones she shares with her readers. No one here genuinely knows the thoughts of my heart; if you would like a closer look, however, I would recommend this book to you. And if you read it, maybe you will become inspired to take a trip to a foreign land to experience a small glimpse of this love that the author expands upon.

Though I have not actually met Katie Davis, I look to her as mentor and peer in my journey called life. The prayers in her book are the prayers of my heart. Maybe one day I'll have the honor of meeting her here on earth. If not, I know I'll see her when the Lord returns. 

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Before I left, three schools offered me positions. I refused all of them because I am not yet properly certified to teach; I still have a bit of schooling left, and though they would have made an exception for me, I knew that receiving my certificate would be the best thing to do. My heart was ripped out when I left that land, but the promise of returning was repeated so many times on my lips.

While I was there, I felt needed. I felt important. I felt ready to face it all. When I returned and got back into the school mode, all of the feelings changed. I wasn't a teacher anymore: I was a student. I wasn't a person of authority anymore: I was one who had to follow all the rules made by those higher than me. I wasn't ready to leave the cocoon of education: I still had so much more to learn that I needed to know. 

It wasn't long before questions of Why? flooded my head. Why didn't I stay? Why didn't I remain in the place I love doing the things I love with the people I love? 

Why am I even here?

I wish I could tell you that I have everything figured out, that I have discovered reasons for all things. But that would be a lie, a big. fat. lie. Though a few of my Why? circumstances have been made clear, others have been brushed over in a hazy, muddy glaze. It's hard for me to truly convey emotion about the trials I faced and am still facing after my return. When the struggles of this country and the petty arguments between parties overwhelm me, I find myself staring at pictures on my laptop and asking myself once more, Why am I even here?

But some reasons have been made clear to me. Without being here, there is a possibility that I would not have discovered some important things about myself, about the reasons why I desire to go and what I intend to do. God blessed me with a new companion who questions some of the same things I do. We have spent many nights talking about the struggles of wanting to live in two places at the same time but being forced to revel in only one at a time. He has blessed me with a dear sister who speaks Swahili and doesn't even laugh at me when I totally butcher the messages I try to convey. He has blessed me with a precious friend who is the reason why I desire to help those who are forced into labor. 

God has blessed me with so much since I have been back; at times I turn my eyes from the reasons I am here and only focus on the Why? aspect. But it is difficult to remain blind when we have a God who opened the eyes of a man born blind. 

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I now wear a ring on the ring finger of my left hand. 

It's a promise ring.

But it's not the kind of promise ring a boyfriend gives his girlfriend of a few months. No. This ring is not like that at all. It's not made of precious metal. It does not contain a stone of value. In fact, the polish on the cheap metal is almost all worn off, and the fake diamonds on the top are beginning to pop out. The ring is not the important part, though. The symbolism is.

I picked up this ring from a vendor in Kenya during one of my last days. I wear it each day as a reminder of my thirty-five students, of my gracious host family, and of all the other incredible people I encountered. 

I wear it each day as a reminder that God has not forgotten me. He promises a life full of humility and servitude, full of love and of discomfort, if only I choose to follow His voice.

This ring is a reminder to those around me that I am promising my life to the path God is preparing, whether it leads to Kenya or somewhere else. Because even though I am head-over-heals in love with this Swahili-speaking, chapati-eating nation, I still desire to go where God leads, not where I lead. 

And though that is a hard promise to make, I intend to keep it.

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Proactive.

This is the word I chose at the end to 2013. This is the word I desired to live out in the coming year. Basically, it was the word I chose to describe how I wanted 2014 to be: I wanted to give up my laziness, my unwillingness and become an active member of God's fleet. 

It was my plan to choose another word for 2015, for the changes I desire and the differences I hope to see. Instead of changing my word, however, I am adding another one on.

Contentedness.

I hope in 2015 that I learn to be content with where God places me. However, I still must remain proactive while I am there.  

These two words are not just reminders for me; I pray that they will find you as well. I pray that you will choose to live proactively for God while being content in your circumstance.

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Two thousand and fourteen has been a year for the books. I am eager to see the joys that this next chapter holds.

Striving to live proactively and contentedly,

Bekah

Ignorance Is Not Bliss.

I've always known about sex-trafficking. I've always been aware of the girls and boys who suffer in unjust, ugly ways. I've always been educated on the fact that slavery is still an issue today.

Yet I've always remained silent.

Until this weekend, the existence of sexual slavery seemed distant. It didn't affect me. It wasn't close to home. It was an awful evil that happened to innocent children whose faces I never saw and whose names I never knew.

But everything I knew regarding this subject changed this weekend.

"Something's different. Getting to actually know [someone who has been sex-trafficked] has changed my outlook. Even though I've only known her for only a few short days, I know she is a life-long friend. Not only that, but she is the reason I can no longer remain silent. I need to do something. This isn't a 'someone needs to do something' situation. No. This is personal. I need to do something. I need to help. I need to be a voice, be a healer.

"She's why. [This girl] is why I need to go, why I need to help. Not because I can change anything with her story. I can't. Her story of survival and redemption is already written.

"But what about those girls whose stories are not yet over? What about those innocent lives that have been so evilly exploited? What about those souls who have not yet found home?

"They need an advocate.

"They need home.

"I cannot remain silent."

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Ignorance is bliss. Unawareness is golden. Silence is perfection. But how can one remain silent when he knows the truth? How can a woman choose to live a life full of unawareness when she has been made aware? How can a man continue to be ignorant after he has gained knowledge? When these things happen, the barrier is broken. The blockade that has separated us from good and evil is destroyed. Stars align, and opportunities develop. Truth screams to be known. Uneducated men and women need to be educated. Vile happenings have to be stopped. When reality is revealed, ignorance is no longer bliss. Unawareness is refined by fire and is no longer golden. Silence is the furthest from perfection. The educated and the aware can break the silence. We can be a voice to the unheard. We can end the evil. We cannot remain living ignorant lives.

We cannot remain silent.

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Friends, sex-trafficking is real. My wake up call came in the form of a girl my age who so graciously befriended me. Because of that, I can no longer avoid this issue. I cannot continue to live as if it only happens to faces I'll never see and names I'll never know. It happens all around: across the globe, in our own backyard, and right underneath our noses. The vileness of the perpetrators often goes unnoticed in the dark. But we need light. We need to see the tragedy of the outcome. Most importantly, though, we need hope.

And thankfully, we have just that.

This can be defeated, but we must work together. This evil can end, but we all have to pitch in. This thievery of innocent lives can be stopped, but all hands are required on deck. We cannot pretend that we don't know the evil. We cannot continue to live in ignorance.

We cannot remain silent.



With a new awakening,
Bekah

Living With a Dirty Neck

Uvumilivu.

Patience.

n.

"an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay"


Patience is not one of my strongest virtues. When I was young, I became impatient way too quickly. My lack of this virtue would often result in spankings, time outs, and the loss of a privilege. However, because of the disciplinary actions I received at a young age, I slowly gained the ability to control my emotions when my patience ran out. I practice the art of self-calming, self-containment. As of lately, though, my ability to sustain patience has died once again.

I find myself becoming impatient with issues that did not used to be a bother to me. When I hear complaints about the variety of food, about the undesired conditions of a shelter, or about the slow speed of a wifi connection, I lose my patience. It takes all I have within me to keep from spitting out snarky remarks to shame such negative thoughts about a given matter. I try to bottle up the overwhelming desire tell of my students, of the people I encountered who would be so full of joy to live like them, to live like kings and queens. It requires all of my self-control to calm my boiling blood before the heat of the anger reaches my face and fills my skin with the redness of dispute.

Patience is a difficult practice.

More than this, however, I am impatient about going back. I count the days I have been on U.S. soil and wait so unwillingly for the time when the days I have been back will outnumber the days before I return. I am so eager, so ready. Upon my unwanted return, thoughts so frequently flew through my racing mind: Why am I here? What purpose do I have being back? Why can't I just drop the life I once knew in exchange for the one I have come to love? Is it really necessary for my presence to be situated here? The question of "why" hit me everyday for weeks, if not longer. I talked to my parents, to my friends, and even to some professors. They each gave me similar answers, but I still sought more. One friend, however, finally gave me the solution I needed rather than wanted.

"Satan will absolutely try to convince you that Kenya is the only right place for you, and so to be anywhere else is wrong. If you believe that lie, your soul will whither from your perceived distance from where you 'should be,' and therefore from God. But our God never wastes a moment. Not in Africa, not in the USA, not anywhere. So you get up and smile and dance and praise... Chin up, even if your neck is dirty."

This stung. I wanted to wallow in self pity. I wanted everyone to feel bad for my return. I, by all means, did NOT want anyone to tell me that I that I needed to make the most of my time here instead of mourning as I had been. Though I did not desire this message, I needed it oh so badly.

And God works in wonderful ways when we are obedient and willing. The day that I finally chose to take off the black garments of grief and redress myself in bright, vibrant, living colors, God opened a door. A girl whom I had met a short while earlier came across my path, literally, as I was walking around campus. This young woman just so happens to be from Kenya, and she just so happens to speak fluent Swahili, and she just so happens to be willing to help me learn more. We ate lunch together and spent many hours speaking and laughing, sharing joy and sharing life. Since that time, we have communed together over Kericho chai and danced to Swahili music. I cherish our friendship deeply. God allowed me to finally have a chance to connect with this lovely lady when I finally chose to accept the fact that He can and will use me no matter where I am. And because of this, I am grateful.

Sometimes the days are long, and sometimes the wait seems unbearable. But God is over all. He knows no impossible. It seems unrealistic that God could have other plans for me, plans that I have not so delicately constructed. But once again, God well and truly knows the best for us. I love to make better plans. But only God knows best.

It isn't until we let go of the root in the midst of the current that we experience the sweetness of land merely feet away.



With a newfound patience while proudly showing off my dirty neck,
Bekah

Leaving Eden

My eyes squinted and my hands naturally formed a shield to protect my face from the unfamiliar rays that the sun emitted. After spending two entire days in airports, my senses had to readjust to the outside world. As if perfectly timed, however, as soon as my sight was readjusted, a giant, blue, all to familiar vehicle approached where I was standing. Out of habit, I nearly made my way to the left side of the automobile to occupy a seated position on the passenger side, but quickly reminded myself that I was “back to reality.” The shining faces of my beloved parents and siblings greeted me warmly, yet I felt like I was only observing. I still felt like I was in Kenya, in my loved surroundings, in the land where my heart was left. As happy as I was to see my dear kin after three month’s time, my whole being longed to be back in the country I had just left. 

I’ll admit, it has been a little bit difficult readjusting to what I labeled as “home” just a few months prior to this date. I still expect to walk outside and see Kenyans working in their shops, cars being driven on the left side of the road, and beautiful little faces approaching me and smiling as they ask, “How are YOU!” I am nearly flabbergasted when I see herds upon herds of wazungu walking the streets of the small, southern Illinois towns. I catch myself saying things in Kiswahili every once in a while in response to questions or comments. I still expect my dear missionary friend to greet me each morning with a “Good morning, Bekah the Great!” as I rise out of bed. I can still hear the little voices of my compound calling out, “Bay-kah! Help me a sweet!” as I look out the window of the house of my biological parents. I still feel as if I can walk a few steps to the shop my friend manages and share about our lives with one another as I purchase a bottle of water or some cell phone credit. I so longingly desire to jump up the beautifully awkward steps that lead to my school and church and stroll into the staffroom to find myself amidst the company of such wonderful souls who have dedicated their careers to teaching children. I wish with all of my heart that I could walk the length of the school building to my old classroom and hear whispers as I approach the door followed by several of my pupils jumping up and shouting, “Ni hao!” 

I feel like I will wake up from this dream any moment and return to that reality. But it hasn’t happened. 

And it won’t happen. 

Though my heart, my life, my being is in Kenya with my pupils and sweet friends, my body is back with my family, back with my familiarities. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my parents and my siblings. But I found love in Kenya, a love so great that my entire being longs to be there.

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It’s taken quite some time to compose my thoughts on being back. Being in the United States, the country that claims my residency, seems so surreal. I honestly do think that I am dreaming the majority of the time. I expect to wake up, to greet my Kenyan family members, to go to school to teach, and to spend my Sundays with that church family. But that’s not the case anymore. I’m trying so hard to fit into the culture that I called mine for the past nineteen years, but the new culture that stole my heart has shaped me so greatly. 

I love being back, seeing my family, catching up with my friends, and enjoying my time at my university. But when my only company is my brain, I often get lost in thought. I calculate the current time in Kericho and think about the activities happening there. I often imagine myself joining in with their splendors. I get so lost in thought that it becomes difficult to pull myself away and get back to this reality. It’s enduring to focus on a task at hand without drifting off into the “what ifs” for a long period of time. 

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“If ‘home is where the heart is,’ then my home is not in the United States. It’s not at camp, not at my school, and not even with my family. My home is in Kenya. Before I left, some of my friends told me, ‘We can’t wait for you to come home!’  I’ve lived in the U.S. for a bit less than nineteen years. I’ve lived at my school for a bit less than two years. But neither of those living areas have ever had the feeling of ‘home’ that Kenya has offered.

“This reminds me, though, that my true home is not in the United States. In fact, it’s not even in Kenya. My home is not of this world; it’s in heaven with my Father. As much as I anticipate returning to Kenya to live with the people I so dearly love, I am even more excited to walk down the streets of gold for the first time. I can’t wait for the day that I receive a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and feel the breath of a mighty voice as it so peacefully whispers into my unworthy ear, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant! Welcome home.’ When I see God smile, I’ll no longer have any doubts of where my home is. I’ll no longer worry about tearing my life in two so that I may dedicate half of my time to my family and friends and the other half to my pupils and loved ones on the other side of the world. Because when God welcomes me for the first time and calls me by name, I’ll know. I’ll know exactly where I belong, exactly where my home is. And I truly can’t wait for that day to come.”

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Many of you are probably expecting this, so I’ll get it out in the open: I’m planning on returning to this land that I fell in love with two years ago. I’m not certain when or how; all I know is that I can’t wait for that arrival. 

With that being said, Kenya take me back to Africa?

Living, loving, and longing,

Bekah

Kwaheri, Kericho.

What if I can't eat the food? What if I can't learn the language? What if I don't adjust to the weather? What if I accidentally drink some of the water? What if I don't like my class? What if I don't get along with my host family? What if I don't make any friends?

Millions of thoughts just like these flooded my mind about two months ago as I drove to Kericho, Kenya for the very first time. My mind was racing with hundreds of thousands of negative "What if I" statements that I didn't take time to even consider the positive experiences. As soon as I stepped out of the car and into the new life I would be living, all of those questions vanished. When I met the loving children and the friendly staff for the very first time, I automatically knew that I would fall head-over-heels with the young people I would call my pupils. The moment I met the couple and the children I would be calling my family over the next couple of months, I undoubtedly knew that everything would be good.

However, I did not know HOW good my time at Kericho would be.

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She pushed aside all of the children holding my hands and hugging my arms. She forced everyone near me to leave my side and step away at least an arm's length, but she did not use words. She used her eyes and her actions to remove all of my little friends from my side. At that moment, she looked up longingly into my eyes, wrapped her tiny arms around my waist, and proudly proclaimed to the other children, "This is my mother!" She contentedly nestled her tiny face against me and smiled as she closed her eyes with satisfaction. I hugged her back; I had fallen in love with this young girl about one month prior. I smiled, tears threatening to roll down my face. The other children simply watched for a moment's time, but all at once, the other baby class students followed her actions. "This is my mother! This is my mother!" they shouted in unison as they ran to me and threw their arms around my waist, my neck, my legs, my ankles, anything. The tears welled up, but I was determined not to let them be seen.

"So I am your mother?" I asked.

"YES!" they cried back simultaneously.

"Sawa. So are you all coming back with me to the United States?"

Another united "YES!"

"Sawa. Alright, here is the plan: I am only taking one suitcase back with me, so you are going to have to squish yourselves into tiny squares for all fourteen of you to fit. Okay?"

The "YES!" wasn't quite as united this time, nor was it as jovial. But there were still positive responses.

"Sawa. Okay, and when I go back to university, you aren't actually allowed to live with me in the dorm. So you must not ever leave the room and if anyone visits me, you all must hide somewhere. Sawa?"

At this point, many of my attachments began to loosen themselves from my person and back away. A few of them, however, still responded positively.

"Okay. And I don't make much money, so I'll have to feed you grass. Sawa?"

They all backed up with fearful looks in their faces. But one face remained as happy as ever, and a hint of determination shown within its eyes. Out of the mouth came a joyful, ready-to-face-it-all "YES." The owner of that persevering face was none other than the dear little girl who started all of this "mother" commotion. When I looked down and saw this small friend who was willing to give up everything she knew to come to my foreign land, the threatening tears began to spill over. I walked away.

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After a full day of school, running around and saying goodbye to many sweet souls, and becoming emotionally drained with the thoughts that I may never see some of the people with whom I had so deeply fallen in love ever again, I was exhausted. It was my last night in Kericho and my last time with my whole family. After exchanging some items for remembrance of each other, I was beyond ready to go to bed. When I sat on my bed, though, I heard a small squeak coming from a wooden chair right next to my room. I checked to see who was still awake, and at the table sat my sister whom I adore.

"I can't find sleep," she explained.

Though I could have easily "found sleep," I didn't want to miss any last minute with this sweet girl. My mind rushed to the first time she asked, "Can I braid your hair?", to our first viewing Disney's Frozen, to the many times we would burst out into song together, to the time I was so nervous riding a matatu at night, but she so contentedly slept peacefully on my shoulder. My love for this girl is insane.

"Neither can I," I lied. But those precious moments I spent with her were worth so much more than a few minutes of extra sleep.

I said goodbye to all of my little friends on Thursday evening since I was sure that Friday would be too hectic to properly wish them well. I waited to say a true farewell to my parents on the next day. My mama, my wonderful cultural influence, was the hardest person to leave. She has taught me oh so much. She repeated multiple times that I was a blessing to her and her family. No. I can never truly express how much they have blessed me and so beautifully enriched my life. As we embraced for the last time, my mind raced from one memory to the next from these last couple of months. And I couldn't keep the tears from forming a tremendous waterfall that flowed down my face and onto my neck. Her love, her acceptance, and her willingness toward me was only by the grace of God. Honestly, I was so nervous when I first moved in with my family. I didn't know how to eat their food, I didn't know how to wash my clothes, I didn't know how to speak their language, and I didn't even know how properly bathe. But with time and lots of questions and willing explanations, I found my place.

And that place became better and better each day. By the end of my time, I felt so connected to, so in love with, and so with one with the culture that surrounded me. Leaving my new family was one of the most difficult feats to ever overtake.

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"Teacha! Don't leave us!"

It wasn't my intention to make every pupil cry as I told them how much I loved them on that last day. The time was meant to be happy. We had a little party, I gave a few gifts, and I was going to encourage them while telling them how much they meant to me. But I couldn't handle that last part without thinking back over all of the glorious moments, both good and bad, that we shared. My heart spilled out of my eyes and down my nose. My voice started shaking as I told them for the last time that I loved them. And all of the faces I had grown to love displayed the same thoughts that I was feeling: I don't want to leave. I don't want this class to find a new mama. I don't want to go a long time without sharing joy with these incredible kids. My heart longed to be with them teaching, singing, and laughing uncontrollably.

As each child hugged me for the last time, their dirty little tear-covered faces left brown splotches all over my white shirt. But  I didn't care. These children, these loves, these souls: they stole my heart. Forever.

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"Love is a funny word. If English was not so strange, it would be pronounced 'low-vay,' which sounds even funnier. In Kiswahili, there are two ways for this word to be used: mapenzi denotes the noun usage and kupenda is the verb.

"Love is a verb. It's not just some feeling of affection. That seems silly. Since love is a verb, it should be followed by action. True love, thus, is shown by the works, the deeds, the struggles, the hardships, the impossibles attempted, endured, and accomplished by the lover for the benefactor.

"The word we have been confusing for this so called 'love' is affection. Affection isn't love. It is an admiration, a silly little feeling one gets in the pit of his stomach. Love is accompanied by deep accomplishment. I think that is why the Apostle Paul stated, 'And the greatest of these is love.' Faith and hope really aren't actions. They are a state of mind, a phase of heart. But love is so much more than that.

"I can say that I truly love these kids, these teachers, my family members. I don't see these children as cute faces with which I can take incredible 'selfies.' They are my heart, my mind, my being.

"They are my love."

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Those "What if I" statements that I thought at the very beginning of my trip returned at the end. But this time they were different. They became "What if I never see these kids again? What if I never want to eat anything other than rice and beans ever again? What if I never have a chance to use my Kiswahili knowledge when I return to the US? What if I cry anytime I look at a picture of one of my pupils? What if my heart literally rips in half because of the pain I am experiencing due to leaving this home?"

Kericho has changed me. It has added on to my personality, my knowledge, my experiences, and, most importantly, my love. I can't be content until I spend more time with my family and friends in this beautiful land. I suppose, though, that my heart will just have to wait until next time.

Until then, I'll have the chance to pray for strength for my pupils each day, for wisdom for the teachers in charge of the classrooms, for the joy that my tiny friends shared with me, and for the family that opened their arms so wide for me.

I am loving more than I thought possible. My heart is full of the memories made during my time in this blessed land, and my mind is often reminded of the tiny arms wrapped around my body, saying, "Mother Bekah, I love you."

I can't wait to see those faces again.


Loving always,
Bekah