Today I arrived home from Ukraine after a month-long journey that could only be described as a blessing. No place I have
known can rival the wondrous harvest colors of Ukraine. I am proud to witness Ukraine’s strong and beautiful desire to define its essence and fight for the right to be. The abundance of food and friendship leaves no room for poverty. I relish the endless opportunities for growth, savoring the wisdoms of babushkas, whose lives have arced a history of staggering tragedy.
Is there any part of this journey that is not a gift?
Yet I could not have been more excited to come home to the sweet comfort of the exceedingly familiar. My yearning is not necessarily about coming home to a better life, rather to one that my flesh knows so well. It is about the cadence, where all sensations fall into a pattern that feel grounded to the life I have lived. It is about feeling no challenge, navigating all of life’s local imperfections as naturally as breathing air.
I am looking forward to a good sleep, as we never can truly rest in environs unknown to us. I am so grateful for my journey, but it is unfathomably nice to be home.