The air lifted us up. One big airplane separating me from what was to what is.
The end of my mission work in Mongolia.

As with the actual 4 year Mongolian journey, the travels themselves were full of ups and downs (literally). In those 23 hours I prayed, “God please let me not miss this flight” more times than I had on any flight before.

The mini Mongolian airport is nothing like American international airports and the “get there 2 hours early” rule doesn’t apply. The first round of “God, please get me on this flight” prayers started from when I walked to the check in counter late, a mere 30 minutes before take off.

The lady behind me at security was in the same frazzled state that I was in, as she was also late for the same flight. Both of us got stopped at security and as the security was going through our things there was a mix-up and she ended up walking away, not only with her laptop, but mine as well! Thankfully we called her back in time and got it sorted out.

My carry on bag weighed almost as much as my suitcase and was bigger than allowed. But because I lived in Mongolia for 4 years, I had learned the art of “pretend it’s fine and just do it.” I got a few eye rolls from flight attendants but somehow fit it in on each flight!
When you’re traveling with your life in your hands, you do what you gotta do!

At customs I almost cried when the official stamped my passport and told me goodbye.
I cried the whole time during take off.

I was able to sleep for a little at the Beijing airport and woke up confused (and drooling) thinking that I was still in my bed in Mongolia.

At Chicago I prayed those prayers again, wondering if I would be able to make my final flight with only 2 hours to transfer between international and domestic. Thankfully I did.

I arrived as scheduled and have been half asleep and numb ever since as jet lag has hit me hard this time. A 12 hour time difference is no joke!

I unpacked yesterday and now what?

I went through the vortex of worlds and all proceeds as normal. Life in Mongolia continues without me, life in Atlanta has continued without me. The earth didn’t shake when I touched down. The only one spinning is me.

The last 6 months in Mongolia were beautiful. This has been the year of pain for me in every regard, yet I’ve found so much beauty in the painful places.

Goodbyes are heartbreaking but beautiful and everyone does them differently. For some, they were too painful. Some people that I was closest to, drew away or didn’t say goodbye. Some said their goodbyes days or weeks before the day of departure, knowing that that on the day of it would be too painful. I heard apologies and thanks for the first time. Some who seemed stoic become incredibly tender and some tenderhearted became strong hearted. Some announced their thanks and goodbyes publicly in front of others, some through letters, dance, pictures, song and private conversations.

Brave hearts. That’s what they were.

Many people have told me that I’m brave for living alone in the slums of Mongolia and for doing the things that I’ve done. It’s a nice compliment but I don’t see it as true. To be brave is to overcome fear, but I haven’t felt fear.

What is brave is how I’ve been loved. I’ve been loved by so many young and old brave hearts. Nearly every child that I’ve loved and have been loved by had already experienced loss or abandonment yet they opened their heart to me. They loved me so much and I am overwhelmed by their bravery to love again and to love deeply. Their families, teachers and foreigners come and go but they love again and again.

Now that I’m in this new journey may I have that same brave heart.
May I fearlessly love again.
May I be brave and open up my heart to new loves and possibilities.
May I love and invest just as much in my home country as I did in my foreign home.
May I see the beautiful in the painful places.