It doesn't seem possible...
that a year ago right now, I was in Nicaragua, probably on a bus heading to or from a tiny town called Xiloa,
where I would spend two and a half days holding and feeding beautiful babies,
singing and playing with children and teenagers, talking and praying with their beautiful parents,
preparing to celebrate the birthday of this gorgeous child,
listening to stories and taking photographs,
and otherwise getting my heart and my soul and my world completely turned upside down. Who knew?
My daughter and I sooooooo want to get back there, to see how our friends are doing, to make new friends, to just breathe that hot, humid, fragrant, smoky, animal-scented air. To have our souls stirred to action yet again. To have our hands held. Our spirits filled. Our hearts cracked wide open for light and life and laughter and sorrow and tears and poverty to seep in and fill us anew.
Then the fear and turmoil and anguish and waiting and watching and praying and pleading for mercy and healing and celebration that have come in the aftermath of that trip... words and photos do not and cannot fully tell the tale. But my soul knows it so very well.
And the story is not yet over... not even close.