My first post!
Today I decided to start a blog. As best I can tell, blogging is like online journaling, and that sounds like something I would like to try. So, welcome... to my incredibly chaotic mind. Where should I even begin? Ya know, I really have no idea what I am doing, and keep thinking I should surf around a bit and look at some blogs to see what you are suppose to write. I have decided not to do that just yet though, cause I like the idea of just writing.... whatever I am thinking about and feeling, with no expectations of who might read it. So, that's what I shall do for now.
Day 1: This last week I read a story about a young girl around my age that was killed in Afghanistan. She had been there for the last 6 years doing mission work and helping with basic medical care for women and children. This story has really stuck with me. The woman was killed in an ambush, and that alone holds with it plenty of room for sadness. To me though, I do not see a sad story. It lit a spark inside me. This woman, only 33 years old.....she really LIVED. She did that amazing work, changed lives, and found adventure! I mean, can you imagine preparing to go to Afghanistan in 2004... the conversations about life and death you have with your family, the internal peace you would have to make knowing that you are stepping off a cliff, and having faith that you will find your wings. That is huge...and an amazing way to live. Then I think about all the preperation, the excitement and the shear fear that had to be pulsing through her as she spent those last few weeks at home getting ready. The plane ride where she met others stepping off their own cliff, and the instant common ground of "American"....all other titles disappear. I think about those first few weeks and all the learning, which to me sounds so exciting. She learned the language, and immersed herself into the Afghan life. She played with the homeless children, and comforted the frightened mothers. In this new world, she became a hero everyday. She came home one time that first year...and I can only imagine the stories, and the pride she must have had for her work. I think about what that next plane ride back must have been like, without the fear, but rejuvenated and eager to get back to work. This young girl was there for six years...by choice...to do work that she believed was important. To me, the story isn't the tragic way her life ended, but the amazing way it was lived. Her story has sparked a fire inside of me again. I want to be that girl who steps off the cliff, and prays for wings.
