I can't describe how my heart aches. It seems to speak a different language to my soul.
I had the privilidge of hosting two of my angels from Ukraine last week for 8 days. It was a wonderful time, and my heart just burst when I spotted them at the airport. It had been two years, and we've been keeping in touch via email and scattered packages. Seeing their faces again made missing them worth it...and I am having a slightly easier time missing them now because when I see them again it will be worth it. I most enjoyed the conversations, and insight we shared. The long drives, peaceful silence, and the expantion of two families.
Yesterday I dropped them off at the airport, and on the way I got a LONG-awaited call from Uganda. One of my other angels called me, and my already-broken heart spilled over again. It took all of my soul's strength to keep the tears inside. I had trouble focusing on the conversation because my mind could not grasp that I had two Ukrainians in the car and a Ugandan on the phone. After the phone call I dropped my girls off at the always-brilliant LAX trying to hide the tears...and I then headed to my friend's house. The music was on in the car, but it was silent in my head. I couldn't figure out how such a short time, or such a short reminder can be so powerful. How GOD's moments, and HIS plans, never lose their intensity or their value. I still feel the same love for the people I meet and the experiences that have grown me...if not more...even years later.
As much a heartache as it is to miss my angels, no matter where they are from, I would give the rest of my life, and all the belongs I may come into for those feelings. To wake each morning missing the them and understanding that is your heart's acknowledgement of your love for them. To spend all day praying for them and thanking GOD for them. For their emails and letters...and the joy they bring. And the time it takes to plan a trip back. ~November 2008~
I can't describe how my heart aches. It seems to speak a different language to my soul.
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