Quilt blocks

Curled up on the couch mending the freshly washed quilt spread across my knees yesterday, I glanced back at the last few weeks of life.

We have been in Texas three weeks now.  Three weeks of sitting in a classroom stretching our brains to wrap around deep theological concepts of spiritual warfare and the power of prayer, of opening our hearts to the differences in culture and worldview, of creating and performing skits and summaries of everything...for the challenge and education and entertainment of our crewmates. 

After each evening run my lungs and feet are dyed burnt-orange from the clay that could be mud if there were water.  I step outside and wonder at the deep untouched blue of the sky, the constant steady sun, the green and brown of trees that (in my mind) should already be gold and orange and red.

I can’t imagine what living by myself would feel like again.  I have three roommates, and our room feels spaciously empty sometimes because of the unfilled last bunk.  I share a kitchen and living room with 19 other men and women…each of them wonderful in a unique and different way, each of them family despite different languages and countries and cultures, each of them friends.

I have been in Texas for 21 days.  I have been here forever.  I stepped off the plane yesterday.

If my life were a quilt, this block would be a patchwork log cabin, with all different colors and patterns worked together, carefully designed to make a temporary shack along the trail to adventure.  There is a mix of wild African fabrics, sedate patterns and colors, and a bit of Indonesian batik.   Worked in among the other bits are the deep orange and bright blue of this place we call not-quite-home.

It feels like we might be here forever.  We fly out in 17 days.  I watch time come almost to a standstill; as one foggy breath evaporates it will disappear, leaving me with learning, with memories and friendships, with one hand-stitched quilt block.