Wearing an Absence

I've spent the last two days in a fog, going through motions. 

God changed me when I was in Zambia.  I know the very day it happened.  It wasn't an amazing experience, it wasn't something someone said; it was a halving of my heart.  I couldn't have anticipated it, and I can't explain why God did it, but it is done. Two years ago I came home from Zambia, but I've never left.  The people of Zambia are on my heart constantly while I'm here at home; just as my family was always there when I was a world away.  I have such a hard time communicating this to people, I'm never saying it right. Even Jim doesn't fully understand; though he understands he doesn't understand, and that's enough.

So this place is down deep in my marrow, and right now we are grieving an immeasurable loss together.  I'm wearing the absence "like a secret locket", as John O'Donohue puts it. The grief weighs heavy over my heart, hitting my chest with every step.  I'm feeling so far away from these people I love so much- I just can't imagine a Choma without Richman Syabbamba in it.  

There is a sweetness in knowing that, for Richman, this could not be better; for the rest of us, especially his family, there is grief and heartbreak, and there are so many unanswered questions.  For those of us so far away, there is a feeling of helplessness.  There is also hope for what's to come; things greater than we can know.  So I'm breathing, crying, praying, knowing, and trusting.