There is something so healing and redemptive about spending an evening surrounded by South Africans... The languages, the laughter, the easy fireside conversations, the familiar sights/sounds/tastes/smells, the sense of camaraderie, and of course the abundance of meat on the grill, makes me feel home. Makes me feel hope.
There is also something about it that stirs up old demons—insecurities, failures, hurts—and leaves my heart feeling raw and exposed. I am reminded of all that I miss, of all that I lost, of all that (and those) I failed, of all that was but will never be again. I am reminded of a life gone by, a life that I loved deeply.
Bittersweet, yes, but I'm thankful for the vulnerability my heart feels in those moments. Because it's proof of life. And it makes the contrasted sense of redemption that much more beautiful.
Much has been lost, but much has been redeemed. Tears and all, my heart feels at home. Thankful for my newfound South African community here in Nashville...