handing out my heart.

I've been searching for some inspiration for the past few days, and I think that I found it:

If this doesn't sum up the last year of my life, I'm not really sure what does. I'm sure that my friends are getting a little tired of all of my stories about Uganda and all of the memories that come up when I open up a jar of peanut butter, say thank you, or raise my eyebrows in affirmation to some comment. If it's bothered you, well then, sorry. But you must know that it's because Africa is going to be a part of me from here on out. As is D.C., and Nauvoo, and Seattle, and Manhattan, and London, and all of the other places that I've left a little piece of my heart these last two or three years. 

Before I traveled, I was quite two dimensional. Stagnant, afraid, and worst of all- I thought that I had a lot of things figured out. I was wrong, so wrong. Travel challenged me, took me out of my comfort zone, made me consider the world from the viewpoint of people that were so different from me (even in the U.S.), and yet children of the same God that I worship and love. 

I tried to stress this point about travel to two of my friends the other day, who mostly just looked at me like, "Oh that's a nice idea... you're crazy." But I think there is something valuable in travel that deserves our consideration. 

Travel means something different- even if that travel constitutes a trip to a historical site down the street that you've never visited before or a trip across the world. The idea is that you are pushing yourself to understand the world through another lens, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable enough for that culture and new set of people to change you.

To say that I've finally got it figured out would be a lie. If anything, travel showed me how much I don't know. Now it's up to me to keep on traveling and learning and loving and serving until there's no more of my heart left to give out.